


secrets i have held in my heart

by arthur_pendragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending Posted After Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, First Times, Friends With Benefits, Internalized Homophobia, Love Requited Too Late, M/M, Pining Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Reunited and It Feels So Good, Separations, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-20 06:05:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15527745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthur_pendragon/pseuds/arthur_pendragon
Summary: Merlin carves himself into Arthur’s soul while the song of summer trails behind them in the sultry air; while the trees haggle with the sun over the price of autumn — separation. Arthur will forever remember this week in which he obtained his heart’s desire and had it ripped away from him.





	1. the little drops of anguish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lillupon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillupon/gifts).



> the product of a sleep-deprived brain. i'm sorry if it isn't very good, which i'm sure it is. not very good, i mean. i need to sleep.
> 
> fill for [my own prompt](https://kinksofcamelot.livejournal.com/1806.html?thread=493582#t493582), hah. I blame lillupon for sending me the following sentences:
> 
> _Merlin and Arthur hanging out in Merlin’s cramped little room on a hot summer day  
>  And they’re boneless with the heat  
> The fan just blows hot air everywhere  
> And Merlin, out of no where, asks, “do you think there’s something wrong with me?”  
> Arthur snorts and says, “of course there’s something wrong with you”  
> Merlin hums and is quiet for a moment before saying, “it’s only that I’ve never been kissed before. Don’t you think that says something about me?”_
> 
> I can't promise regular updates, please don't be disappointed

  
cover art for the story by [ueberdemnebelmeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ueberdemnebelmeer)

* * *

Arthur’s life changes on a blazing summer day, a week before his closest friend, the only person he’s ever loved, steps out of his world.

Merlin’s room is cramped but Arthur doesn’t mind. He lounges on the single bed, his side flush against Merlin’s. They’re not talking, or playing video games, or watching a film, just — waiting for the day to end. For the heat to concede to the night. I tried. You win.

The fan’s fucking useless, too. It’s only making Arthur sweat more. He’d go turn it off, but he can’t be arsed, he’s comfortable in his uncomfortable little nest of sweat and damp and Merlin and breathing and waiting, eyes shut, for sleep or night or time to stand still.

“D’you think there’s something wrong with me?” Merlin asks out of nowhere. Arthur rolls his eyes and snorts.

“Of course there’s something wrong with you.” No, you’re fucking perfect. You’re whichever Greek god didn’t have a lot of muscles and tried to look nearly as beautiful as you.

Merlin hums. Arthur’s ready to resettle into his almost-siesta, preparing a daydream of Merlin calling him from his so-distant-it-might-as-well-not-exist uni — “Arthur, I miss you. I think I’ve loved you in every lifetime I’ve met you, and I know we must have met in all of our lives because otherwise I would’ve waged war against whatever powers would dare to keep me away from you —” but Merlin speaks a quiet moment later.

“It’s only that I’ve never been kissed before. Don’t you think that says something about me?”

Arthur sits up. “What are you _talking_ about?”

Merlin shrugs. Arthur’s sleeve rides up with the action, and his arm brushes against Merlin’s. “Maybe I’m too ugly to be liked. You always make fun of my ears. And say that I have a horse face.”

Arthur turns onto his side to effectively stare at Merlin with incredulity. He’d always assumed Merlin was being a gentleman about his flings. He hadn’t known Merlin hadn’t even — fuck, no, he won’t prove Merlin’s point.

“Merlin, _Mer_ lin, no — I was just taking the piss. You’re _not_ ugly and there’s nothing wrong with not having been kissed until now.”

Merlin purses his lips. “Sure,” he says, like he regrets bringing it up and now wants to end the conversation.

Well, that’s not happening. Arthur grabs Merlin’s chin and forces him to meet his eyes. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

Merlin won’t hide anything from Arthur. Not when Arthur asks like this.

“What does it feel like? Kissing? And sex?”

Arthur doesn’t really have an answer for him. “Why’re you asking this out of _no_ where? And anyway, I’ve tried to talk you about it before, mate. Loads of times.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t really into knowing e _xactly_ how your girlfriends moaned when you fucked them. This is different.”

Of course it is. Arthur knows that.

“So... you want to know what snogging feels like. And sex.”

Merlin won’t look at him, eyes downcast and a smattering of red across the bridge of his nose. Arthur’s still holding him by the chin when the realisation strikes. Merlin — oh, God, he took Arthur’s fond insults to heart. Years and years and years of Dumbo jabs and scarecrow get-ups — shit.

“Why now, Merlin?”

“Don’t want to be _that_ loser in uni,” Merlin mumbles, swatting at Arthur’s wrist to get him to loosen his hold.

“Explain.”

“I can’t be any fucking clearer!”

Arthur lets go of Merlin, who sits up, draws his knees in to his chest and hides, ducking his head and wrapping his arms around himself. He sits up, too.

“Y’know those parties you dragged me to?” Merlin says, after a while of Arthur watching him, fighting the urge to untangle him, lay him out on the bed and apologise until he laughs.

“Yeah.” Merlin had hated those parties. He would always whinge for ages before giving in to Arthur’s wheedling.

And then when they got to the place, Arthur would find his shag of the week and Merlin would disappear — oh, fuck. Arthur had reckoned Merlin nearly always got off with someone at those things, it’s why he’d vanish as soon as some girl smiled at Arthur. Fuck. He’s not Merlin’s closest friend. He can’t be. He doesn’t deserve to be.

“I wish I’d shagged someone there.”

Arthur has no words. He looks mutely at Merlin’s hair; it’s drooping only slightly despite the heat.

“And now I’m going into uni and I’ve never even held _hands_ with someone and, hell, I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”

“God, no,” Arthur croaks.

“You’re my best mate, ’course you’d say that,” Merlin sighs. His voice is muffled, and quavering a bit. Arthur feels like an utter arse. He’d never known Merlin thought this about himself — fuck. _Fuck._

“Listen, Merlin, I’m not lying to you. I’m not, okay? Y’know what, I’m glad you didn’t get off at those parties. I know you — ” what an obscene lie — “You would’ve hated yourself afterwards.”

And Arthur would’ve hated whomever Merlin had kissed. Snogged. Fucked.

Merlin sighs, but doesn’t contradict him.

“I — oi, look at me.” He waits until Merlin raises his head. “I was only joshing around with you about the — the ears and everything. You’re cute. You’re fucking beautiful, Merlin, and everyone at our school’s _blind_.”

Merlin smiles at him, a sad little quirk of his mouth. I want to believe you, but I don’t.

Arthur brushes some of Merlin’s hair away from his sweaty forehead. The liquid chirping of the insects outside the window is the only thing he can hear, aside from Merlin’s breathing, but he doesn’t consider the breathing; Arthur’s so used to it that it’s background music to him, an essential rhythm in the soundtrack of his life.

“D’you want to know how it feels?” Arthur asks, mouth suddenly dry.

Merlin nods.

“It feels like this,” Arthur whispers, and leans in.

Merlin inhales sharply. He hadn’t been expecting this. Why would he? Arthur’s famous for having screwed his way through the female population of their school, and never has Arthur mentioned anything resembling an attraction to men to Merlin.

But, hell, Merlin isn’t into boys either. And Arthur’s taken the biggest risk of his life. It terrifies him to think that something as uncontrollable as the constriction of his heart when he looks at Merlin could snap their bond, so he’s shut himself down, always, _always_ , he has to or he’ll lose everything.

But now Merlin’s going far away from him so what the fuck does it matter that Arthur’s wetting his lips and Merlin’s nervously imitating him?

He’s got this one chance to show Merlin he’s sorry for all those offhand insults that he’d never known hurt him so much, to show him that he’s wrong about himself, that inexperience doesn’t mean a thing, that sometimes being too experienced is a curse.

“Close your eyes,” Arthur murmurs.

Merlin hesitantly raises a hand, slides his fingers through Arthur’s hair. He doesn’t seem to care that it’s damp from the heat, that their closeness is making them both sweat even more, making their T-shirts stick to their skin.

Arthur’s never going to forget this. This, his heart _soaring_ , Merlin’s closed eyes and his girlishly long eyelashes on his cheeks, his lips pink from all the times he ran his tongue over them just now.

He’ll always have this, and when one day he’s watching Merlin kiss some faceless woman on an altar he’ll have the satisfaction — or the torment — of knowing he got there first.

He closes the distance and captures Merlin’s lower lip.

Not for long; he breaks away.

Merlin’s eyes snap open. “Why,” he begins dazedly before he’s scrambling to stand on his knees. He lunges for Arthur, knocking him flat on his back.

“Merlin,” Arthur manages to get out, before Merlin kisses _him_.

He’s doing the same thing Arthur did, does it again but with his upper lip. Scared. Shaking. There’s really very few ways to balls this up.

“Was it like one of those film snogs,” Arthur mutters. It works; Merlin snickers and the tension keeping him taut splinters.

“Yeah,” he replies. “ _So_ romantic. All magical. Your stink in my nose and the sweat dripping into my eyes. Just like it is in the films.”

“I’ll show you a film snog,” Arthur says, and he meant it as a threat but it comes out as a promise, and Merlin’s mischievous eyes soften and he says,

“Okay, Mr Kissing Expert.”

“You insolent little,” Arthur starts, so in love with this boy, but the boy kisses him and cuts him off yet again. Now when Merlin shakes, it’s because of eagerness. He’s got bolder.

Arthur can’t believe this is happening. “Tilt your head a bit,” he murmurs against Merlin’s mouth. He’s resolutely ignoring the way this small contact has set him on fire, that Merlin’s soft lips just might make him come in his pants. He’s not thinking about it. For now.

Merlin follows Arthur’s lead. Arthur’s eyes flick up to his. They’re closed; Merlin trusts him. Fuck. Arthur’s never going to see him again. Merlin will make loads of new friends who’ll be just as odd as him, who’ll get all the literary references Arthur never did, and maybe someone there will fall in love with him and have the courage Arthur never did.

“Open your mouth a little for me, Merls,” he says, and when Merlin does, Arthur deepens the kiss, holding Merlin’s head steady with one hand and sliding a brave arm over Merlin’s back. Arthur memorises this, too; the exact weight of Merlin on him, the mattress offering negligible resistance as he sinks in, the sunlight making the air glow, and Merlin’s fumbling attempts to reciprocate.

And he’s getting Merlin used to this, the rhythmic, sensual kisses so unlike anything else Merlin’ll have got from anyone else, when Merlin stuns him.

He licks Arthur’s lips, teasing and taunting. He — he slips his tongue into Arthur’s mouth and brushes it against Arthur’s, withdrawing just as quick.

Arthur can’t help the full-body shudder that overtakes him, nor can he restrain the “God have _mercy_ ” that slips out. Merlin grins against the corner of Arthur’s mouth.

Arthur gets even, though, putting his football training to unexpected use and rolling them over.

The bed is tiny; thank fuck it’s right by the wall.

Merlin gasps and his eyes widen and Arthur doesn’t want to look, he doesn’t want to remember _this_ because this is the part that’ll make him weep when he’s drunk at two in the morning and thinking about the single best day of his life.

“You sure you’ve never kissed anyone?” he asks, mouthing at Merlin’s chin.

Still not looking at Merlin’s eyes.

“Yeah,” he hears Merlin reply, small and fragile under him. “I mean, no,” Merlin continues, and Arthur’s heart plummets, “now I’ve kissed you.”

“Fuck,” Arthur breathes. “Fuck.” He knows for one piercing moment that everything he feels for Merlin was stark on his face. He hopes Merlin didn’t see.

“C’mon, teach me more,” Merlin urges, wrapping his arms around Arthur, hooking a leg over the back of his thigh.

“Turned into a nympho already?”

“Oh, yeah,” Merlin says, laughing.

Arthur grins despite himself as Merlin adopts a mock-sultry expression and a breathy falsetto. “Oh, Arthur, won’t you keep going? You know how I love it so when you do _this_ , and when you do _that_. Won’t you stay in my bed a little longer? You’re the best shag I’ve ever had, you know, and I’ve had a million shags.”

The impression is charming and nothing like anything and cracks them both up, and then they’re laughing into each other’s mouths as they kiss again and again. What had Arthur been worried about? Merlin isn’t going to have _any_ clue of Arthur’s motivation behind this. He’s treating this like he treats the video games whose rules he randomly makes Arthur teach him.

It’ll be fine. Arthur will be fine. His friendship with Merlin will be fine.

Their mirth fades as Merlin grows braver with his tongue again and Arthur responds in kind, pulling out all the stops, doing all the tricks that’d made his girlfriends shiver and press themselves against him.

Merlin tastes like cherry lip gloss, for some reason. Arthur’s always liked it. Merlin also tastes of heat, and Arthur had never known heat could have a taste but it does and its name is Merlin and it’s all his to have.

He moans before he can check himself at the realisation that for a few minutes after all this he’ll taste like Merlin and Merlin’ll taste like him and they’ll be each other in each other’s skin, and Arthur’s sweat will have mixed with Merlin’s and Merlin’s mouth will forever have his mark on it, he was the first he was the first he was the first.

Merlin pauses for a brief, terrifying second.

And then he moans, too, like he’d been holding it back and thanks for doing it first, Arthur, and now there’s no laughter, none — just urgent, frantic kisses as Arthur tries to hold very, very still and Merlin’s hands try and pick their favourite place on Arthur.

What’d Merlin’s mum think if she walked in just now? If she saw the way Arthur nearly covers her thin, less than athletic son?

Would she see Arthur’s love for Merlin in that scene? Would she cry and tear him away, would Merlin watch him and think oh, he _loved_ me. Would he ever look at Arthur again?

Arthur closes his eyes against the worry.

“What now?” Merlin pants into his ear.

“Hm?”

“What comes next?”

Merlin’s hands have found their favourite place — the small of Arthur’s back. Arthur inhales, all the guilty fantasies that Merlin’s innocuous question sparked springing to the forefront of his mind.

“Well,” he mumbles, nuzzling the tender skin under Merlin’s lovely ear, he’d never meant to make his best friend feel bad about them, he loves them so much, he loves everything of Merlin’s — “Once you’ve snogged the girl silly like this and you’re sure she wants to fuck you, you —”

“No,” Merlin interrupts.

Arthur stops.

“What comes next with _boys_?”

It’s got to be a fever dream. The sweltering summer’s made Arthur’s head go woozy and he’s probably fainted and pinned Merlin below him. “You. You want to do all that,” he says.

“With you,” Merlin confirms. Arthur searches his gaze. The confidence is a sham. It’s got to be. Surely Merlin’s a little nervous, too, even though he’s a far cry from the blushing virgin who’d doubted himself half an hour ago.

“We have all week to find out,” Arthur says, not a no but not a yes.

“Arthur, c’mon, you’re the only one I can ask, please —” and Merlin’s fingers scrabble to keep him where he is. Arthur isn’t going anywhere, though. He’s perfectly fine with kissing Merlin until Merlin declares he’s sick of it, sick of Arthur’s jealous mouth.

“Merls, this happened far too suddenly, we need to talk things through.”

“Later. _Not right now_ ,” Merlin says, scared; scared that Arthur will _get off of him_ , Arthur realises.

And before he can do anything, say anything, take back his words and eat them and swallow them until he never said them, Merlin groans, “Fine, just fuck my mouth with your tongue, then, I’m ten seconds away from coming as it is.”

Arthur completely fucking loses it, the vulgarity of those words in Merlin’s voice unravelling him. “God, oh God, you. Fuck, Merlin, why are you always so —” and then he’s gone.


	2. from cold to fire

  
cover art for the story by [ueberdemnebelmeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ueberdemnebelmeer)

* * *

Merlin rings him up the day after, and Arthur’s heart could nearly give out from the relief — he didn’t destroy anything. Hasn’t, not yet.

“Hey,” Merlin says.

“Hi,” Arthur breathes.

“Wish you’d stayed over last night.”

“Me too.” Arthur’s a fucking coward. Merlin had come in his pants, too, right then with Arthur, quivering and muffling his cries in Arthur’s mouth. Arthur had taken one look at him after — he’d gazed at Arthur like some debauched muse of a long-dead painter, Waterhouse’s fucked-out Narcissus, or maybe someone else, fuck, Arthur doesn’t think about these things because being _this_ in love is fucking terrifying — and he’d fled, he’d pushed himself up and off and run away, lungs threatening to burst forth from his chest.

“Erm, so, I was looking things up.”

“What things?”

“Things you could teach me to do.”

“Merlin, I’ve never touched another bloke before, either.”

“But you’d do it? With me?” Merlin sounds uncertain.

“’course,” Arthur replies. He doesn’t need to think about it. He’ll probably wreck his life giving Merlin everything he wants. “But I thought you wanted to shag a girl.”

“Not bloody likely, is it? A six-day boyfriend, show him the ropes and let him go. Which girl would want that sort of relationship?”

Arthur aches. If only he’d been a girl, if only he’d been pretty and dainty, Merlin’s type, so they wouldn’t be having this conversation, so he and Merlin could easily shift from mates to lovers and back in the blink of an eye.

“It’s all right, you can be _my_ six-day boyfriend,” he says into the mobile, trying to pass it off as a casual offhand suggestion. Six-day boyfriend, five-day boyfriend, last-day boyfriend, never-ever boyfriend.

“You’re bonkers, Arthur. Fine,” Merlin says, laughing. “I’ll start over. Hey, boyfriend.”

“Hello, love. Want me again so soon?” Such bravado. Maybe Merlin will think back to this conversation some day, wanking by himself in his dormitory, and maybe he’ll go a level deeper and see that Arthur’s never been a posh, handsome boy around him. Maybe one day.

“Need you,” Merlin answers, smooth and innocent in his yearning. “You’re the only one for me.”

“H’ve you been looking up stuff for us to try, darling?”

“ _Darl_ — I’m not a girl, Arth — ugh, okay, whatever. Yeah, I have, _daddy_. I’ve been watching a whole lot of porn, thinking about you. I’ve been _so_ naughty.”

Arthur starts cackling, Merlin joining him seconds later. God, it just doesn’t sound right in Merlin’s mouth. I’ve been naughty, daddy. Punish me. Lift up my skirt and bend me over your lap and spank me, make me your whore, it hurts so good —

Arthur’s laughter ends in a choked gasp. Merlin squirming in Arthur’s lap. Merlin panting as Arthur shows him how good it can all feel, the difference between a slick hand and a wet mouth and a… well, there’s a problem they’re going to need to solve.

“You okay?” Merlin asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Arthur answers. “What kind of porn, baby boy? Look, I even said boy.”

“Gay porn, boyfriend.”

“Oh, baby, you’re sure about this?” Arthur’s got no fucking clue what the future holds for him, no idea how he’s supposed to go about this, but at least this third-rate role play’s doing half his job for him.

“Absolutely, _Ar_ thur. Want to try so many things with you.”

“Like what?”

“Why don’t you come over and find out?”

Arthur’s silent for a second. Condoms, lube — what else?

“Arthur?” Merlin’s cockiness has vanished. He’s uncertain again, as if Arthur would ever let this slip through his fingers.

“I’ll be there in five.”

Merlin’s sigh of relief sends a thrill through Arthur. (Yeah, yeah I want to help you explore your body if it’s the last thing I do. I want to hold your cock in my hand and I want it to fit snugly in my mouth so whenever you hear the words _hand job_ , _blow job_ , you’ll think about the week before you left home, your best mate who loved you. I want to do to you what the people in your favourite porn vid are doing to each other, and I want you to go off to uni thinking about me, I want you to remember me every time you kiss someone else, I want you to compare, I want to win. I’d let you fuck me. What do you look like naked? I’ve seen you in your swimming trunks but I avoided tracing your cock with my eyes because what if you’d seen me and been disgusted? What would you have done? Would you have walked up to me, all brazen and confident, pulled your trunks down and said, “Suck it like a good boy,” to me, Arthur Pendragon, the boy who’s fucked every girl who’s chatted him up, also the boy who’d never even thought of looking at any cock until you ripped apart his safe world?

No, you wouldn’t have, would you? You blush whenever a girl looks at you. You hide behind your books and genius. I used to think I knew you inside out, but you rattled me to the core yesterday and now I don’t know anything. What would you do if I kissed my feelings into your skin?)

“Quick, Mum’s out,” Merlin says, and Arthur hangs up and _runs._

It’s the holidays, no one cares what a rich boy’s doing out in the heat, the kind that’s making the air shimmer as divots in the tar road solidify into mirrors, a rich boy sprinting out of his big house, on a path that thirteen pairs of shoes have perished treading over the course of a lifetime.

Merlin’s at the door, opening it even before Arthur knocks, and it somewhat soothes Arthur that there’s a strange desperation in his eyes, too, so Arthur might not be the only one who wants this so badly that he’d — he’d —

“I want to kiss you,” Merlin says, breathless and wide-eyed as if he’s the one that ran five hundred metres in six minutes. Arthur surrenders in moments, Merlin’s sweet mouth opening under his, gentle and shy as if yesterday never happened, experienced and adroit as if yesterday happened a thousand times. God, this boy.

“The sounds are so dirty,” Merlin says between the wet smacks and bitten-off sighs of their kisses, tugging at Arthur’s shirt, his hair. It’s addictive. Like heroin, or cocaine, or whatever Merlin likes to quote when he’s in the mood to bore Arthur with poetry.

“They’re so _hot_ ,” Arthur says. “You like them?”

“A lot. Want to come up? I’ve really got a video loaded.”

“Let’s go,” Arthur whispers. He could be nine again, running away from his own home while his father and elder half-sister argued loud enough that the entire neighbourhood could/did listen in, knocking on Hunith’s door in tears and letting her wipe them off and hug him, letting Merlin grab his hand and tug him up the stairs like he’s doing right now. Love you, Merlin. With all my heart.

They won’t be hiding under the blankets this time. Arthur’s not going to be listening to Merlin chatter about boy wizards and hobbits in an effort to lure his best friend away from reality, he won’t be sipping from Merlin’s mug of hot chocolate (his own’ll be drained empty) before Uther turns up to drag him back to hell.

Merlin shoots Arthur an apologetic glance as the stifling heat overtakes them, worse here than downstairs.

“It’s all right,” Arthur says, and takes his shirt off in a smooth action that almost fools him into thinking he’ll be on the football ground once the fabric passes over his eyes and falls to the floor. He’ll be drenched in sweat and there’ll be people cheering for him, Merlin and his anorak friends brave at the front. It all fades away under Merlin’s blushing stare.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” Arthur reminds him, but he’s dead chuffed. Chest a tad hairy. Stomach. Abs if he dehydrates himself and flexes like Hugh Jackman, plain old belly skin otherwise. All normal.

“Yeah, well. ’s different now.”

“D’you want to as well, maybe?”

“Sure. Mind lending a hand?”

(In what world would I refuse to undress you?)

Arthur kisses him as he reaches for the hem of Merlin’s T-shirt. “Six-day boyfriend,” he murmurs, and Merlin snorts lightly.

“Okay, here’s the vid.”

Merlin’s laptop, just as hot as the air around them, is lying open on the bed, its fans whirring pathetically. Merlin clambers onto the bed beside it, on his side; Arthur follows him a heartbeat later, settling down behind Merlin. Big spoon. He rests a light hand on Merlin’s stomach and ignores the reflexive sharp intake of breath and the flex of muscle under his fingers. Merlin adjusts the laptop screen and fiddles around with the brightness before clicking play.

The video stars two men, lazing around on a sofa — “Mute it,” Arthur mutters — before something happens and now they’re kissing. Arthur spares a wry thought for the doubtless fascinating plot line before Merlin curves around and mimics them.

“That’s how you want to do it, hm?” Arthur whispers. Well, it is quite convenient. Merlin’s eyes flutter closed. Arthur keeps an eye on the blokes in the video, copying nearly every move the top’s making. (Brush your fingertips over his stomach, his chest, over a nipple — _fuck_ , Merlin’s far more sensitive than the video guy; he whimpers but keeps his eyes shut tight — do it again until he’s a writhing mess under you. Kiss down his neck, a shoulder while your hand travels down to the waist of his shorts, dips beneath just a bit, then a bit more, and then brushes over his hardness over the cloth. Suck a love bite into his neck. You don’t have the time; the video’s cutting and skipping ahead. Now they’re doing a soixante-neuf already but you want to take it slow with this inexperienced boy.)

“Can’t keep up with them,” Arthur says. Merlin opens his eyes and without a second’s thought slams the lid of the laptop shut and pushes the machine away.

“Don’t stop,” he says, needy, and the way he’s lying there while Arthur presses his chest to his back and nuzzles his nape and fondles him through his shorts, as if it’s all too much and he needs to hold still or he’ll fall apart, it’s fucking brilliant.

“Can I take your shorts off?” Arthur’s sure he’s going to die if Merlin says yes.

Merlin nods jerkily.

“You’re only physically a virgin, eh?” Arthur nips Merlin’s overlarge, beautiful ear.

Merlin snorts, raising his hips slightly so that Arthur can slide his shorts and pants down, slow and steady. Arthur can’t help but watch for Merlin’s cock emerging. “Of course. I’m only human, I’ve thought about all this more than enough times.”

“Have a fantasy you want to try?”

The gasp Arthur gets in return is fucking gratifying. “Yeah, maybe later,” Merlin sighs as the shorts reach his knees and Arthur gives up on them to bury his face in Merlin’s hair, and wrap his fingers around Merlin’s cock.

“This is called a hand job,” Arthur says, dragging the words out on purpose. “It’s because you use your hand to do it.”

“Fuck _off_ ,” Merlin laughs, and covers Arthur’s hand with his own. “Prick.”

Arthur hums into Merlin’s hair in agreement. “Prick,” he parrots, slowly jerking him off. Merlin’s free hand bunches the sheets.

“Get the lube from my pocket,” Arthur whispers.

“Give me your hand,” Merlin answers. Arthur’s free hand’s trapped under them, so he lets Merlin takes the other one and raise it to his face.

“Oh, _God,_ Merlin.” Arthur struggles to see it, crane his neck and see Merlin suckling his fingers. Fuck. Oh, fuck. “There’s no fucking way you’ve never done this before, Merls, you’re, oh fuck you and your filthy mind —” I love you, I love you, I love you, look at your lips wrapped around my fingers, look at the way you’re licking everything you can reach, fuck, I’m going to, I’m going to —

“Go on, _please_ ,” Merlin urges. Arthur begins to jerk him off again and of course it’s easier and better. God. This is torture. The worst kind.

“You’re so pretty,” Arthur says in a low whispery voice that’s always melted his partners. It fails to distract him from the fact that Merlin’s going away, Merlin’s not his, this is just a game Merlin’s learning the rules of. “Anyone would be lucky to get to wank you like this. Look at that, you’re leaking all over my hand. I’m that good?”

Merlin nods, eyes screwed shut as he moves, steadily fucking Arthur’s hand. His arse brushes against Arthur’s hard cock through his shorts and all the breath in Arthur’s lungs implodes.

“When you’re in uni, and someone sees you for the absolute _diamond_ that you are, I hope they do it better.” The words barely spill from Arthur’s mouth, the syllables digging into his throat and struggling to climb back in and dissolve. He doesn’t want to let go. Merlin is perfect in his arms, look, Merlin, we could be perfect together, I love you and I’d prove it, you’ve always been my one and only, I’ve never been able to look away from you, I’ve never had a serious girlfriend because you’ve never had a serious girlfriend and I wonder if you might have a boyfriend in the future; not me, because I’m only going to last six days more, aren’t I? I’m your six-day boyfriend, never-again boyfriend. And then you’ll forget all about me, you’ll forget me even though you’re the other half of my soul. You’ll graduate university and do your Master’s and get a job and win awards and I’ll have my own empty grey prison while I watch the brightest thing in my life glittering somewhere else. You’ll ring me up on my birthday and I’ll be your best man and we’ll share a couple of beers every now and then and I’ll retrace the shape of your eyes and ears and face. I love them. I never meant to hurt you with my teasing. Everything about you is stunning. I’m sorry.

“You do it best,” Merlin gasps. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Arthur uses his slick hand to tenderly fondle Merlin’s balls in his palm; Merlin seizes up and climaxes without warning, silent and intense. Arthur watches, breathless, relishing the hot spurt of Merlin’s come all over his hand.

It takes Merlin a while to collect himself. Arthur waits.

Merlin rolls over to face him.

“That was.”

“Yeah.” Merlin’s come is still cooling on Arthur’s hand. The temperature of the room’s only gone up. Everything’s a hazy blur except Merlin.

“You haven’t — finished, have you? And oh, your hand, let me clean it up —”

“No,” Arthur says, and instantly regrets it. Will Merlin realise why?

“What?”

“I’ll bring myself off.”

“But the spunk —”

“It’s all right, Merls. D’you mind if I go on and do it right now?”

“No,” Merlin says, and makes no move to get off the bed. Instead, he just pushes his shorts and pants down the rest of the way and kicks them off his feet.

“Clean yourself up,” Arthur says, one-handedly manoeuvring his shorts down his thighs.

Merlin goes red. “Can I watch?” he asks in a small voice.

God, Arthur’s chest hurts. It hurts. So much.

“Yeah, okay, Merls.”

Merlin’s eyes widen as Arthur takes himself in hand — the spunk-covered one, what a romantic he is — and for all that he has a filthy imagination, the sight of Arthur wanking must be overwhelming, for Merlin fits himself to Arthur again and kisses him. It’s surprising — Merlin really isn’t repulsed by the thought of his cock touching Arthur’s or whatever, he’d really meant what he’d said yesterday. But what’s even the point, unless Merlin’s going to experiment a fair bit in uni, and no, Arthur can’t think about that, he can’t.

“’s good kissing practice for you,” Arthur mumbles, laughing a bit to hide the tears. Merlin smiles.

“Yeah, it is. You’re my sex training dummy.”

Yeah, that’s what Arthur is. He’s business magnate Uther Pendragon’s heir, his school’s most popular, handsome student, captain of his footie team, Merlin’s best friend, Merlin’s six-day sex training dummy. He’s not his own person. He exists as a flawless complement to the people in his life, the people who will move on from him and forget all about him, live happier lives without him. How often do you ring your childhood friends?

That’s all he is, an unreachable ideal, noble and helpful and gorgeous and perfect. That’s all he’ll ever be. He’s got to make his peace with it. Make the best of what he has, for as long as he has it. The beautiful boy carefully watching his face right now, stealing kisses every now and then, deserves the world; and apparently Arthur isn’t fated to give him it.

Merlin swallows Arthur’s cry in a bruising kiss as he comes, and when Arthur pulls him in with spunk-covered hands, he willingly enters into the embrace. They lie there quietly, sweating, breathing, listening to the summer crickets chirp outside until Hunith returns.


	3. the impalpable ash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know if this one's going to be any good ._. refer to sleep-deprivation note at the beginning of ch1 thank you. but i hope you like this update anyway

  
cover art for the story by [ueberdemnebelmeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ueberdemnebelmeer)

* * *

“So, are you done with your packing?”

Arthur shoots his half-sister a glance. Morgana’s eating buttered toast with tea and reading something on her mobile. She’s here on an ill-timed three-day break; flew over from Italy to see Arthur off.

“Almost, yeah,” he answers. “I’ve sent ahead some of the bulkier stuff, and Dad’s dropping me off at the hall in about eight days.”

“Looking forward to university?”

“I am. I’ve always been interested in Econ —” he’d yearned to become a cardiac surgeon until Uther delicately threatened to throw him out with nothing but the shirt on his back — “and they’re letting me read it along with Risk Analysis.”

“Isn’t it utterly tedious?” Morgana laughs, looking up from her screen.

Arthur shrugs. She doesn’t know. Arthur hopes she would’ve fought for him if she had.

Something horribly close to sympathy steals into Morgana’s smile.

“I hope you’re making the most of your last few days of freedom,” she says. “Spending as much time as you can with your mates before you all go your separate ways.”

“Yeah. I’m meeting them today — at the lake behind school, d’you remember? One of your classmates got told off for lighting firecrackers too close to the edge.”

“Have fun.” I love you, her eyes say.

Thanks, Arthur doesn’t reply. She knows that, at least. Well, he hopes.

Merlin and some of their mutual friends — Gwaine, Gwen, Freya — are already at the lake when Arthur arrives; they’re whooping and hollering and swimming around, raising hands when they spot him. Merlin’s sitting at the edge of the jetty, kicking at the water. Arthur joins him, poking at his bony shoulder-blade. He’s in his swim trunks, dark blue and something Arthur would give his life to be allowed to peel off.

“Late,” Merlin says, grinning. “We were all worried something had happened to you, you’re usually the first one at these things.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. How do you explain the need to prolong a journey so you can pretend to be stuck in time?

Merlin must’ve finished his packing. Maybe the suitcases are in one of the storage rooms in his house, which is why Merlin’s room doesn’t have anything out of place. He’s not going to think about it.

“I’m so tired.” Merlin yawns widely. His hair is a feathery black cloud on his head. He’d been planning to get it trimmed after final exams, but Gwen or maybe Freya had remarked on how it looked so good on him, how it made him prettier than both of them because he had pale skin and a pink mouth and blushed easily, something Arthur has never been able to say out loud except in backhanded comments about his ears. And then Merlin had just let it be. And now he looks like a living, breathing work of art. Sharp profile, gorgeous blue eyes and, fuck, those eyelashes, high cheekbones, entirely kissable rose lips, lithe body with childhood battle scars and beauty spots scattered across his skin, signs of a life well-lived — Arthur is no poet, it’s always been Merlin, but —

“What are you staring at?” Gwaine asks, breaking the surface of the lake right in front of them, windmilling his arms to splash them with tepid lake water. Merlin starts, and then kicks out at him, protesting half-heartedly about not wanting to get soaked just yet.

Arthur shares a shrewd look with Gwaine and shoves Merlin in.

(It’s fun. Morgana, look, I’m having fun.)

Gwen and Freya are off trying to paddle a boat without toppling over. Arthur suddenly can’t bear to see Merlin and Gwaine fighting and wrestling in the water, and dives in to join the girls, push their boat behind them and become their human rotor, get away from Merlin.

He’s never considered Gwen and Freya as anything more than friends. They’re beautiful, they really are, and each in their own time had fancied him, but their fancies hadn’t been the kind of intense feelings they both have for Merlin right now as they steal looks at him and Gwaine and giggle about something. Arthur submerges himself in the dark green water every now and then to avoid eavesdropping while he chauffeurs them around.

What do they think of Merlin crossing the pond to wow a whole different continent? Will they miss him like Arthur already does? Will they try and steal any of his hoodies or his idiotic winter tippets like heartsick love interests in movies? Will Merlin recognise the longing in their eyes?

Far too soon it’s late afternoon and they’re all drenched and winded, lying under a shady tree on a huge blanket Gwaine nicked from his house. Merlin chose a spot at the edge of the blanket beside Arthur to have his kip. His relaxed breathing is the only thing that can calm Arthur. Maybe he’s not going anywhere just yet. Or maybe he’ll get rich and come back for the hols or whenever he wants. Or maybe Uther will let Arthur visit him if he’s on track to graduate with first-class honours.

The dip in the lake did little to quell the heat; Arthur’s covered with a sheen of sweat already, and when he closes his eyes, his eyelids glow dull red. He can’t doze off. So he listens to Merlin. In his sleep, Merlin’s turned halfway towards him, nudging his foot with his own and facing him. If Arthur were more courageous, Merlin’s head would be resting on his shoulder, the way lovers sleep together. The way they’d rested the previous day, naked and filthy and perspiring with their arms around each other, skin to skin, breathing each other’s air, occasionally meeting each other’s gazes and silently holding them as the music of summer wafted in through the window and the ceiling fan whirred alive every now and then.

There’s not really a lot left to show him, is there? Couple more things and then Merlin won’t hesitate to chat up whomever he falls for at Princeton, the university of smart-arse nerds where he’ll be their king, polymathic genius that he is. Will Merlin want to have sex with him? He’ll probably look up some stuff on how to prepare for sex between two blokes, and then Merlin can fuck him if he wants and close his eyes and imagine it’s someone else. And if after that Arthur’s lucky, Merlin might want to practise a bit more with him. Or maybe Freya or Gwen, now that he can devastate with a mere kiss.

Or maybe Gwaine.

Merlin stirs awake slowly, and Arthur only catches it ’cause he was watching Merlin’s bare chest rise and fall, Merlin’s wrist centimetres from his aching fingers.

“Arth’r?” Merlin murmurs.

“Here. Go back to sleep, Merls. Everyone’s kipping.” Gwaine’s snoring is drowning out the gentler sounds of Gwen and Freya lost in their dreams.

“Hm?” Merlin inches closer, blinking. Arthur’s heartbeat picks up the pace. Merlin crawls on top of him almost unconsciously, as if every inch of space Arthur occupies is his birthright — it is — and peers at him.

Arthur can’t help it. He winds his arms around Merlin, tight and desperate.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Merlin whispers, fidgeting a bit so he’s now resting his forehead against Arthur’s, cradling Arthur’s face in his hands. Arthur breathes him in — sugar sand, motionless time, salty sweat, chocolate that Freya’d given them all — and replies.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Why not?” Merlin’s eyes are already shuttering again. Arthur plans to restore him to his original spot on the blanket before the other three wake up and notice.

“Slept too much last night.” Don’t want to miss a single second of you.

“Hm.”

And then Merlin devastates him. Arthur wets Merlin’s lips with his tongue so their languid kissing won’t resound in the air the way he wants it to, but Merlin wrecks his efforts by gasping and whimpering, rolling his hips against Arthur’s as if they’re back in Merlin’s room, moving together on cotton sheets. It stands to reason that Merlin would be keen to explore another body, explore himself, considering he’d never done any of it two days ago, and it’d make him daring and alluring. But it’s still dangerous.

“Not here,” Arthur says, low, and rolls onto his side so Merlin falls off him. Merlin looks confused.

“We’re not alone,” Arthur reminds him, glancing at their friends — they’re still in a deep sleep — and then back at his best friend.

Merlin exhales, and sleepily, petulantly caresses Arthur’s lips with the tips of his fingers. The touch tingles, like miniature firecrackers. Arthur parts his lips in clear invitation.

Merlin accepts.

It’s worth risking discovery, Arthur thinks, to be able to see what Merlin’s expression is like when he’s _hungry._ Does he look as good as Merlin did yesterday? Could he ever?

His heart stops when Merlin withdraws his fingers, slick and glistening, and looks Arthur straight in the eye as he buries them in his own mouth. You didn’t want to kiss me directly so I’m going to do this. Fuck you, Arthur. I’m not one of the people who’d lie over a puddle and let you step on them. I want what I want. I don’t want you.

Merlin’s just trying it out, it’s got nothing to do with Arthur himself. It doesn’t matter that it’s Arthur’s wet that Merlin’s just licked up.

“I’ll do that and more to you if you want, Merls,” Arthur whispers, leaning in. Merlin’s eyes widen. “I’ll blow you. I’ll show you what people look like when they’re on their knees and their mouths are stretched wide around your cock and they’re staring up at you, praying that you like it and that you’ll stroke their hair and hold their hands and tell them what a good job they’re doing.” Yours’ll be the first and last cock I’ll ever have in my mouth. Please like it. Please like me. Please love me. Please don’t forget about me when you’re mingling with other geniuses at your poncey American university.

“Yeah,” Merlin whispers back, shy and eager. “Yeah, I really want that. You’d _do_ that for me? You won’t think it’s ghastly?”

Merlin, you’re — you’re the loveliest person I know. You’re resplendent. Doing that to you is for me more than you.

“Girls do it just fine, don’t they? I’ll see you tonight,” Arthur promises, finally, _finally_ brushing his hand against Merlin’s wrist, sliding it over his palm and threading his fingers through the spaces between Merlin’s. _And now I’m going into uni and I’ve never even held hands with someone and, hell, I’m pathetic, aren’t I?_

Merlin smiles shyly, squeezing Arthur’s hand, and easily slips back into slumber minutes later.

Arthur still can’t close his eyes. Gwaine’s snoring away. Gwen and Freya are curled around each other, fragile and angelic.

It’s sort of lonely.

Merlin’s hair smells like the sea, for some reason.

It’s even lonelier.

* * *

 

What’s he going to be like a week in the future, when Merlin is two whole days gone and he’s still waiting to leave his home and his father? Will he still exist? Will he be thinking about this new side to his best friend, recollecting every memory of Merlin he has, or will he have gone numb or will he be quite all right?

* * *

 

“Don’t know if I’ll see you after this, so take care, Merlin. Promise you’ll ring us.”

Arthur glances at Gwaine and Merlin. They’re standing a bit to the side. Gwaine is already growing into his cocky, drug-addicted rockstar persona, and with his air-dried hair and flimsy made-to-be-taken-off T-shirt he could be the kind of guy Merlin would like.

“Yeah, Gwaine. Don’t break too many hearts.”

“Nah.”

And then Gwaine swoops in and hugs Merlin. “Remember me when you’re world-famous,” he says, a corner of his mouth curling up in self-deprecation. Arthur is startled to recognise himself in Gwaine’s eyes.

“If you’re not world-famous yourself by then,” Merlin says drily.

“Cheers.”

And then Gwaine’s walking off, carrying his blanket in a crushed ball. Freya waves goodbye to the rest before joining him.

“Take care, Arthur,” Gwen says. She’s standing beside him and he hadn’t even realised.“I’m sorry about Econ and Oxford.”

“Doesn’t matter. You know what my dad’s like. I’ll miss you, Gwen.”

“Me too, Arthur.” She gives him a one-armed hug, one that Arthur returns with a soft kiss on her forehead. He’s never going to see her again, probably. He’s never going to see any of these people.

She leaves, then, too.

Arthur could have loved her. He doesn’t.

“Hey,” Merlin says, once they’re alone. He lingered. He’d been watching them.

“Hi, five-day boyfriend.”

Merlin snorts, shaking his head and sticking his hands in the pockets of his trunks. “Let’s go,” he says, tilting his head in the direction of the setting sun. Arthur recognises the shirt Merlin has on. It’s a translucent white thing, too big for Merlin, and three years ago it belonged to him. Merlin’s only half-buttoned it; Arthur has to fight to not stare at the collarbones he’s exposed, or the nipple peeking from behind one wing of the shirt. The sight of them is so much more erotic now than it’s been all day — Arthur can pretend Merlin wore the shirt, wore it like this just for him, a sign of desire and possession. Boyfriend shirt.

“Hadn’t known you’d kept that,” Arthur says as he falls into step with Merlin. A bad nosebleed had ruined Merlin’s T-shirt during a bout of cricket and since Merlin hadn’t wanted to worry Hunith, Arthur had given him the shirt off his back.

“What, this shirt? I forgot to return it to you immediately and Mum thought I’d bought the wrong size with my pocket money. Sorry, it was the only cottony thing in my wardrobe.”

“No, of course I don’t mind. It’s as good as yours now.”

“Um, where are you headed?”

Arthur looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “Depends. Where d’you want me to blow you?”

“ _Arthur_!”

“Oh, c’mon, you were much worse this afternoon! Climbing on top of me like that inches away from those three! Don’t go all blushing maiden on me _now_.”

“That’s not — I was — fuck!” Merlin throws a rude gesture his way, red as a cherry.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Arthur says. He’s grinning now, broad and happy. They could be a flirting couple.

“My room again?” Merlin asks once they get to his house.

Morgana isn’t expecting him until later tonight, and Uther’s out on a business trip or whatever. Arthur makes it a point not to care; it’s his small, pitiful rebellion against his father.

“If that’s all right with you.”

“Fucking hell, Arthur, we’ve been friends for over fifteen years. _If that’s all right with you_.”

“Fine. Yeah, I want to go back to your room and suck your brains out through your cock.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything after that. But he reaches for Arthur’s hand and clutches it tightly, trembling like a leaf in a gale barely hanging onto its branch.

“Mum’s working the night shift at the clinic,” he says, once he’s locked the front door behind them. “If you want to stay.”

“I’ll message Morgana. You go on up.” Arthur pulls out his mobile. He can’t _not_ stay, the very thought is insensible to him.

Merlin hesitates.

Arthur sends the text and tucks the mobile back into his pocket. “What’s wrong?”

The next second Merlin’s mouth is on his, his hands under Arthur’s T-shirt, hurriedly rucking it up. Fuck. He’s so desperate for it. Arthur gently bites his lip, wondering if he’ll let himself be lifted up.

He does.

“Fuck, Merls. Look at you,” Arthur sighs, finding his way to the stairs, taking them one careful step at a time. “Didn’t know you wanted it so much.”

“Y— it’s so addictive,” Merlin breathes, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Arthur’s jawline. “How d’you not want to do this every minute of every hour of every _day_?”

“ _That_ good?”

“Yeah,” Merlin sighs, shameless now. “So fucking good, Arthur. ’s this how you always feel? With your girlfriends?”

“No, you’re a billion times better,” Arthur answers before his brain can catch up to his mouth, and he can feel Merlin’s kisses stutter in their frequency, and panic shoots through him like thunderbolts, _please don’t stop, please don’t_ — I want to take it back. I wish I hadn’t said that. Please don’t hate me. “Because, well, you’re my best friend and I’ve known you so long that nothing can change that. Right?”

“Yeah,” Merlin breathes. “Yeah. Can I try giving you love bites?”

“Anything you want, Merls.” Please, please mark me. I’m yours. I’ll always be.

Arthur shuts the door to Merlin’s cramped/cozy room behind him, switches the dim light on, and shuffles over to the bed. “Let go, love.”

Merlin drops onto the mattress and grabs a pillow, shoving it under his head. His hair’s in disarray, and his shirt that used to be Arthur’s might as well not exist for all that it does to cover him, and he’s hard, and Arthur would do anything to stop time, please let him have Merlin, please, he’ll do anything, he’ll abandon every dream and every ambition, he’ll give up his future and let Uther disown him, let him stay in this moment, let him, let him —

“Hey, boyfriend,” Merlin says.

“H’lo, my nympho darling.”

Merlin flushes again; it’s far too easy to spot him doing it — “Don’t call me darling,” he mutters, but his cock visibly twitched when Arthur said that and Arthur is fucking _gone_ — and spreads his legs. “Come to me, _baby_ ,” he says in a falsetto, fighting off a smile. He raises his arms as if for a hug.

Arthur clambers onto the bed, between Merlin’s thighs. He falls forward, nose centimetres away from Merlin’s as his arms bear his weight on either side of Merlin’s head. “Can’t wait, _doll-face_.”

And just like that, whatever heaviness had been weighing them down disappears and they’re laughing, undressing each other and fighting over who got to take Arthur’s T-shirt off and kissing and _kissing_ and sighing and gasping.

“Feel good?” Arthur asks, taking their cocks in one hand and pumping lightly.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Merlin keens. He looks so beautiful. How had he ever believed Arthur’s empty chaff? “Please.”

“Okay, won’t tease you.” Arthur lets go and kisses a wet path down Merlin’s chest and stomach, delighting in Merlin’s responsiveness. He pauses.

“Merls,” he whispers, please don’t hear this, “You can close your eyes and imagine it’s anyone else. Gwen, Freya, Elena, even Gwaine if you want, okay? Close your eyes.”

Merlin gives no indication he heard, if he did; he only tosses his head back.

“Got it, Mr I Have No Patience,” Arthur huffs in mock-outrage, grasping the base of Merlin’s gorgeous cock. He has no idea how he’s going to do it. How had his girlfriends done it? He kisses the tip and closes his mouth around the head and goes as far down as he can handle.

Merlin’s back arches upwards. “Arthur,” he cries out, bunching the sheets. “God, fuck, please, oh God.”

(Would you look at me, Merlin? Am I sexy? Do you like me?)

In the end, techniques and tricks don’t matter — Merlin whispers litanies of Arthur’s name before warning him; Arthur only sucks harder in response, _come for me_ , and when Merlin comes down his throat, he swallows as much as he can, even though it’s salty and near unpalatable, because it’s _Merlin’s_ and it’s Merlin’s first blowjob and Arthur loves him so fucking much.

Merlin’s shuddering by the time Arthur crawls back up his body to settle beside him.

“Hey, boyfriend,” Arthur says softly.

“So good,” Merlin sighs, dazedly stroking Arthur’s face. “Wish I could’ve seen you doing it. It felt so good. Wow. It was — fuck.”

“Yeah, well, whoever’s going to do this to you at Princeton’s going to be far better at it than a bloke like me,” Arthur says, patting Merlin’s cheek. “Go to sleep, Merls.”

Merlin’s hand curls into a fist in Arthur’s hair, and he falls fast asleep. Arthur waits until Merlin’s breathing evens out into its usual calming rhythm before burying his face in the pillow and letting go.


	4. arrow of carnations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u like ._.

  
cover art for the story by [ueberdemnebelmeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ueberdemnebelmeer)

* * *

Merlin grimaces. “It looks awful. Not the football match, though I s’pose that’s equally horrifying.”

“Shut up, and it’s fine,” Arthur says, looking down at his chest. “It’s supposed to look like this.”

“A dark red-purple welt on your skin?”

“Yeah.” Property of Merlin, now and forever. Cinderella but for love bites and mouths — only Merlin’s will ever do.

“Well, I’ve just been turned off them forever. They’re… unsightly.”

Arthur buttons up his shirt. “Shame, some people really like them.”

He’s one of those people. He likes it, the mark, stark under his collarbone.

(Merlin had woken him by accident in the middle of the night; he’d been muffling his moans in his fist, trying to jerk off carefully like that could ever be possible, but he’d been breathing Arthur in — the thought thrills Arthur, intoxicates him — and got to the hollow under Arthur’s arm, and then he’d fucking lost it and come in hot stripes over Arthur’s stomach.

“Sorry,” he’d whispered guiltily, as Arthur blinked awake and stared blearily at him, lit gold in the haze of the nightlight. “I didn’t mean to — I didn’t want to —”

Arthur had quieted him, then; had rolled on top of him and smeared Merlin’s come between them both. Merlin hadn’t hesitated to cover Arthur’s mouth with his. In the shelter of the night, they could’ve been newlyweds drunk on each other, clinging on for dear life without shame or inhibition; Merlin could’ve been in love with him as he urged Arthur upwards a bit and nipped the swatch of skin he’d chosen to bruise. Arthur’s going to ache there for the rest of his life, the shape of Merlin’s mouth’s branded on him along with the memory of that lovely boy’s curious fingers on his nipples.)

Merlin yawns, collapsing onto his side on the sofa and firmly planting his feet in Arthur’s lap. Arthur caresses the bridge of Merlin’s foot with a finger, staring at the telly screen. He wants to call it idle, absentminded, but he’s always been sort of rubbish at lying to himself. There’s footballers on the screen. Doing something, running around. He’s lost track of the ball ’cause Merlin’s tendons will kill him. He would’ve been taught what they’re named had he had a different father and an ounce of courage. And maybe with a pinprick of hope and a massive fucking miracle he would’ve been showing Merlin exactly where his heart lies — not entirely on the left but between his lungs tilted towards it. Maybe it needs to shuffle over a bit because my heart’s found a home there as well, Merls, look, I’ve given you a back-up life. Look at the back of your hand, you’re too pale, I can see your veins. I’ll tell you all about them but first you have to bore me to tears with Rilke and whoever, whatever. Who said that thing about love and onions?

Merlin’s foot twitches. It probably tickles. “Isn’t there anything more interesting on?” he groans. “At this point I’d be happy with Love Island.”

“Football’s plenty riveting, swot,” Arthur retorts on cue. “You just need to learn the rules properly. And stop making jokes about the forward being an offensive position.”

Merlin blows a raspberry, makes gagging sounds, then recites his deathbed will (Arthur gets all of his lit analysis books and his smelliest pair of socks) until Arthur snorts helplessly and pushes his feet off with a choice insult. They’re back on Arthur’s thighs in seconds.

It’s cooler on the ground floor than in Merlin’s bedroom; they’re not sweating as much and Merlin’s just showered and he’s all right. Arthur’s not going back home. Morgana will understand. If she doesn’t, he has the rest of his life to explain himself.

Hunith cooked breakfast for them when she returned home in the morning. Arthur would’ve protested because the exhaustion in her eyes and under them was alarming, but Merlin, Arthur’s compassionate _ass_ of a best friend who knows how Arthur yearns for a mother, how guiltily Arthur’s been sharing Hunith with him forever, he asked her to make Arthur’s favourite eggs and tea before going to sleep. One last time.

“You’ll keep dropping by for a chat during your holidays, yeah?” she’d murmured, kissing the crown of Arthur’s head before saying bye.

I’ve been fucking your son non-stop for three days. I’ve had his cock in my mouth and he’s addicted to kissing me and he’s the most beautiful man I’m ever going to know and how _dare_ you send him so far away from me how dare you make me say goodbye to my entire world how am I supposed to exist without the reason that I exist, how could you do this to me I’m sorry I’m sorry —

“Without question.”

“She showed me this photo yesterday, I’ve been meaning to show you since,” Merlin says. Arthur tears his eyes away from a football match he absorbed fuck-all of to look. Merlin’s holding out his mobile. There’s two tiny boys on the screen. They’re grinning widely. One of them has tear tracks on his face.

“You were such a crybaby,” Merlin mutters.

“Oh, shut up.” Father didn’t come for Photo Day. Why doesn’t he love me?

“You’d reckon between the two of us I’d be the one to —”

“To be fair, it’s not like you need anything more to be a girl, _doll-face_ , you’re already an honorary one.”

“You saying you want me to grace you with one of my nympho impressions _again_? Why, of course, anything for my best friend.”

Yeah.

“God, no,” Arthur starts, but by then Merlin’s gleefully sat up and moved closer to him. Arthur covers his eyes with a palm.

“Just joking,” Merlin whispers, far too close to his ear. “D’you want to take a couple of photos?”

I love you. “Yeah,” Arthur says, hand slipping back down to the sofa seat. Merlin fiddles with his phone and raises it in front of their faces.

“As always, you’re the only looker in the pic,” Merlin grumbles, snapping the photo and checking it. “No wonder you were swamped by all those people on the last day of school. _Our sixth-form king whose boots we lick because we’re kinky fucks is abdicating his throne, woe is us, we’re going to cry about it until the next fit bloke turns up._ ”

“Oh, c’mon, it wasn’t that bad.” You’re more of a looker than I am, love.

“Another one?”

“Yeah.”

Arthur leans into Merlin for this one, shoulder against shoulder and head resting against Merlin’s. He’s sweating now, Merlin’s warmth a welcome fire. Merlin raises the phone again. Arthur wonders why Merlin would ever dislike the way he looks, and then he realises the answer, and then he hates himself.

“I cleaned myself,” Merlin says casually, still staring at the camera, holding up the phone. “There. Looked up how to do it and everything. It’s why I took ages in the shower today.”

Why. Why, why, didn’t you want to experience something else entirely, Merlin, who are you, have I ever really known you? Three days ago I took my first real breath — I’ve lived a thousand years and died a thousand deaths since you first let me kiss you and this will ruin me forever, please don’t ask this of me, I can’t have you once and never again because each day afterwards that I reach out to oblivion where my heart used to live I won’t remember hot chocolate and Harry Potter under the blankets, I won’t remember whinging about homework and the long walks home under the clouds that saw me unable to look away from you; I will remember nothing of you but this week, you under me you trusting me you wanting me you promising to Skype once you’ve Wi-Fi set up there, you never ringing me again except as a guilty afterthought, fuck, he’d been my best friend, how’d I forget his birthday. He’d been my best friend.

Merlin turns away from the camera to kiss Arthur on the cheek. “D’you want to? I want to,” he says, softly.

Arthur swallows. “Yeah, okay. Me too.”

And he turns to Merlin’s waiting mouth and something ugly in him is hoping Merlin will take pictures of this, proof that Arthur was the one to show him how brilliant it could be, so maybe some day if he doesn’t delete them (please don’t delete them) he might see these and think _my ears are fine. My face is fine. I liked snogging him. He was a good shag._

Merlin’s taking it slow, languorous. It’d be hard to believe he’d never done this a month ago. A month ago he’d walked in on Arthur and his girlfriend and walked right back out and then studiously avoided Arthur’s eye with flaming cheeks. I wish I could pull like you, he’d said. But sod that, did you secure your room at Oxford?

The phone clatters to the floor as Merlin straddles Arthur’s lap, still kissing him. Arthur loves Merlin’s mouth. Tastes of heat. He rests his hands under Merlin’s T-shirt as Merlin breaks the kiss (there’s a string of wet joining their lips, Merlin’s or maybe Arthur’s or maybe both of theirs. It’s as if they’re in one of those porn videos where the actors do their job, pretend to be in love. Merlin, take a photo of this, d’you think it looks sexy?). Arthur watches as Merlin pulls at the waist of his shorts — “What d’you want to do, Merls?” “Hold your cock in my hands.” Filthy mouth that Arthur loves — and helps him slide them down.

Merlin’s hands are light, unsure on him. He’s blushing again, trying to steal glances downwards in between sensual kisses. Arthur feels like he’s going to come in seconds, watching Merlin like it so much. It’s too hot. He’s too hot. They’re too hot.

“I’m going to,” he manages to gasp out before Merlin devours him again, but he thinks Merlin got it ’cause he instead focuses on getting rid of his clothes. They’re not in a locked bedroom this time and it’s scary but how can he worry about getting caught, getting thrown out of a second family when Merlin takes his hand and guides it under him, and Arthur can feel slick and oil and oh _fucking God oh my fucking God fuck fuck fuck_ —

“I did that _after_ the shower,” Merlin says, like it’s a secret he wasn’t supposed to tell. Arthur grips the base of his cock with his other hand as he gently fingers this fucking beautiful boy who did this to himself but why?

“Missed my chance to do it to you, then,” Arthur answers, nipping Merlin’s lips soft and quick. His fingers slide in so easily, how badly had Merlin wanted this?

“Together next time, _baby_ ,” Merlin says, moaning with each gentle twist and curl of Arthur’s fingers. Next time.

“Yes, _darling_ , anything you want, anything…” and Arthur trails off as Merlin slides backwards off the sofa, hovers over his cock and before he can guess what Merlin intends to do, he’s in his mouth and Arthur’s never felt like this with _any_ one else before, God, Merlin’s got to stop, he’s got to stop or Arthur will paint his face.

But already Merlin’s lifted off and what’s he, he’s letting a trail of wet drop from his mouth, fucking _lubrication_ , and it’s probably s’posed to look disgusting or whatever but Arthur can’t stop staring at Merlin’s cloud hair, his eyelashes, his glistening lips, the flush on his chest, the sincerity with which he’s doing this, swot through and through.

“You really want to do this here? Do it like this?” Arthur asks, as Merlin climbs back onto him and true to form goes in for a snog.

“Can’t wait any longer,” Merlin mumbles. He’s trembling. “Please. I need you now.”

Don’t say that, how can you say that? How can you let those words fall against me in your voice?

Arthur lines himself up with Merlin. “Keep talking to me, okay, Merls?”

“Promise.”

“I —” _love you so much._

Merlin sinks down achingly slow onto him, and Arthur holds his hand with the one he hasn’t got gripping Merlin’s waist like a vice. Merlin whispers _I’m all right_ over and over, in between whimpers and stuttering gasps. Arthur licks at his lip so he’ll stop biting it so hard. Merlin hugs him, properly hugs him, when he’s filled completely. Arthur hugs him back, nuzzling his feathery, sweaty hair. There’s still a football match going on the telly. Maybe. It’s on and things are moving on the screen. There’s loud sounds muffling theirs. Merlin feels amazing clenched around him.

It’s utterly horrifying, then, that Merlin’s trembling resolves into actual sobs, tears rolling down Arthur’s back.

Arthur goes still.

“Merlin?” he whispers. Did I just. Have I. Are you. Please. Say something. Tell me I didn’t.

“You,” Merlin starts, and buries his face in Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur doesn’t dare move.

“I can’t stop crying ’cause you feel _so fucking good_ , Arthur,” Merlin sighs, and rolls his hips a little.

Arthur’s going to faint. Years and years of football training so intense that not even five continuous hours of exertion can fell him, and Merlin just said the words Arthur will weep remembering until he’s dead.

“Rise a bit, Merls, and sit back down. I’ve got you.”

“ _Ah_.”

“Feel good?”

“Yeah; yeah.”

“Try again?”

“I’m going to come in fucking _seconds_ , Arthur —”

“Me, too, Merls, d’you know how amazing you feel around me, it’s hell keeping myself together —”

“Yeah, you like this?” Merlin suckles on the love bite he left last night.

“So much, Merls, you’re my — you’re the _best_ at this, no one can compare, look at you fucking yourself on me, it’s your first time and already you’re so fucking brilliant, look into my eyes, please, you’ve wrecked me —”

“Come for me,” Merlin gasps, and Arthur can’t help but obey, shuddering and nearly crying himself as Merlin comes, too, moments later.

* * *

 

“Can’t imagine it feels nice,” Arthur says. “I’m sorry, I forgot I had Durex in my pocket.”

“’s fine, I didn’t want — erm, yeah.”

Merlin’s spread out on the sofa again, one leg thrown over the back and another bent to his chest. Arthur dips the towel in the bowl of warm water, and resumes his tender cleaning. Does he ask? Should he?

“Who’s the crybaby now?” No, that’s not what he wanted to ask. Fuck.

“Oh, shut up,” Merlin says, repeating Arthur’s earlier dismissal. “Don’t you go and get a big head now. Ah, can you do that again? Felt nice.”

“’course, Merls.”

“So, erm,” Merlin begins. “I reckon I know now what it’s like, snogging and all those other things.”

“Yeah. But I thought you wanted to shag girls.”

“But I was shagging you, and you’re not a girl, unless there’s something you’d like to tell me.”

“Yeah, that you’re the girl.” Arthur grins.

“Fuck off,” Merlin says, snorting.

“So, now that you know what to do and everything… did you want to stop, maybe?” Arthur asks. He doesn’t look at Merlin for this. His opinion of his own suggestion is evident on his face, he’s never been able to hide like that, and Merlin can’t know how he feels, can’t ever.

“Well, practice makes perfect, I’ve heard. Unless you want to stop.”

Arthur’s eyes snap to Merlin’s. Merlin’s staring at him as well, with something like hope in his eyes. Yeah. Must be hard to go cold turkey after three — four — days of this.

“No, I don’t mind carrying on,” Arthur says. Yeah, as if I ever want to stop kissing you or holding you when you come. Did I know you truly before this week? Who were you, who were we?

“Cheers,” Merlin answers, smiling at Arthur.

I’ll write you letters if you don’t Skype, and if you don’t write back to me I will keep all my letters to myself and burn them before I die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [that thing about love and onions](http://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poetry/poems/valentine)


	5. cemetery of kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please look forward to the two remaining chapters!

  
cover art for the story by [ueberdemnebelmeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ueberdemnebelmeer)

* * *

In the morning, Morgana breaks him.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she says. The guilt is sharp in her suddenly-gaunt eyes.

Arthur remains silent.

“Uther collapsed in Edinburgh. He was taken to hospital. They’re transferring him to London this evening.”

It dawns on him, then. He’s going to university far sooner than he’d thought he would.

Say something. Say no. Say you’ll charter a taxi when it’s time, you’re a big boy despite Uther’s axe-like words. Say you haven’t prepared for the move yet. Say you’re not ready to let go of home.

He doesn’t utter a word.

* * *

 

“Ready to lose?” Leon says. Arthur grins at his friend and only punches his shoulder in response, jogging onto the pitch in his football kit on his last day as himself. It’s not a pitch, really, just a grassy bit of land with a swing set to one side and two goals at two opposite ends. Arthur had tried to fling himself into the sky on those things, once, and nearly broken his neck. The sun beats down on him as he quickly joins his team. It’s unrelenting.

Merlin’s reading something, swaying on one of the swings. He’d rung Arthur up, _what are your plans for the day_ , and instead of following his heart’s desire and locking himself in Merlin’s cramped room for hours for the final chance to mould himself to every pore on Merlin’s body, he’d said footie with Leon and the lads, and then scrambled to actually get Leon and the lads together. Coward. He would’ve probably started sobbing in front of Merlin, though, if he hadn’t lied. And he would’ve told Merlin far sooner than necessary that he was never going to see him again and then — he can’t imagine it. Can’t imagine what would’ve happened next. Dramatic confession. “I’d loved you all along, you clod! Why do you have to leave so soon?” Nonchalant acceptance. “Okay, have fun at uni, I’ll see you around.” Anger. “I wish your father were dead!” Me too. I can admit it if you say it. Please say it so I don’t have to.

It isn’t as if Merlin had minded these plans or anything; he’d just said _all right, I’ll see you at the ground in about thirty?_ and rung off. Would he have protested had he known? Dragged Arthur into his room himself? Does he want Arthur (sex) that much? Arthur steals a glance at him, lit up in the sun’s glare. He’ll get sunburnt if he doesn’t move into the shadows, the idiot. He hollers something to that effect in Merlin’s direction as the game begins and someone rushes towards him; Merlin shouts _don’t trip over your shoelaces_ and goes back to his novel.

Miracle of miracles, Arthur loses himself in the sport for a few hours. He doesn’t count. The sun’s well in the sky by then. He doesn’t dare look at his watch. If he ignores all of it, he can pretend it isn’t happening. He’s a child. He’s a fucking child.

His team lost the match. It sort of feels like an external signal of the fact that he’s fucking lost at life. He says his goodbyes to his friends, wish he cared more about them, and walks over to Merlin.

“You weren’t as pathetic as you usually are out there, footie captain,” Merlin says. He grins at Arthur and indicates the swing next to him. Arthur doesn’t sit. Merlin doesn’t seem to realise anything’s wrong. There is _everything_ wrong with all of this. I want to rip myself out of my skin. I don’t want to read Economics, I don’t want to go to Oxford, I don’t want to leave you.

“What’re you doing for lunch?” Arthur asks. “I can cook something for us if you want.”

“You’re not going to poison me, are you?”

“No, Merls, c’mon.” Arthur’s voice is surely not as weak as it sounds.

Merlin closes his book — _Narnia_ , where they lived a lifetime in the span of a moment, yeah, spit in Arthur’s face like that — and stands up. A drop of sweat slides down his temple, down by his ear, and nearly unconsciously, Arthur leans in, licks it up before it falls. He’s not — breathing in his body. This is the knee-bend in his world, he’s neither here nor there, he’s on the brink of falling into a new hell or stumbling back into denial and this is the universe where time follows the absolute worst laws possible, nothing but new hell up ahead, so if Arthur’s tongue touches Merlin’s jaw in public where Leon (still on the ground playing with the rest) will see, everyone else will see… it matters. It’s still going to matter.

“Sorry,” Arthur mutters as he straightens. Merlin’s looking at him quizzically. Not outraged or surprised.

“Why are you sorry?” he asks, lightly smacking Arthur with the book. “Felt nice. Never had anyone do that to me before, yeah?”

“Will you remember all this when you’re in America?”

He hadn’t meant to say it with the tremor in his voice. Or at all.

“Of course,” Merlin answers. Now he does know something’s off. There’s concern in his eyes and a small line between his eyebrows and he’s not grinning anymore. “What d’you mean, though?”

“I —” Arthur begins. “I’m, uh, just wondering.”

“I’m quite sure I’m not going to forget having sex for the first time, Arthur. Don’t you remember your first?”

No. There must have been someone, logic calls for it, but no, he doesn’t. If he screamed and tore his mind apart for memories of skin on skin and gasping mouths and emotions like explosions he’d get nothing but Merlin; him telling Merlin to tilt his head and open his mouth, kissing him carefully, watching a bad porno with him and wanking him off, Merlin riding him in tears of pleasure, biting at the mark that aches dull purple under his shirt right fucking now.

“Will you remember me, then?” And now Arthur’s desperate. He’s not going to get a confession from Merlin, he’s never expected that, and this comes in second, Merlin, remember me when you’re gone? Please?

Merlin stares into his eyes and stays quiet.

Arthur thumbs away the next bead of sweat that has the enviable audacity to travel Merlin’s neck.

“Going to tell me the truth any time soon?” Merlin finally says. “What’s going on?”

Arthur looks away from Merlin’s beauty. At the clinking metal chains as the swings give in to the breeze. At the goalposts where Leon just dived for the ball that whooshed past him.

“You would tell me if you were hurting, wouldn’t you?” Merlin sounds softer, gentler.

The words that would kill Arthur coalesce into a lump of coal in his throat. He gulps them down before they bring tears to his eyes.

“Are you hurting?”

There’s no harm in nodding, so he nods, and doesn’t look back up.

“Can I kiss you?”

“ _Yes_ , oh God, yes —”

Merlin doesn’t seem to care that Arthur’s filthy, grass-stained, drenched in sweat, or that he’s burning up from the sunlight or that there’s clearly more to this that the simple need to get off, or even that they’re in front of far more people than Gwaine, Freya, Gwen from the other day, he just — he just lets the book go and steps into Arthur’s space and closes his mouth over Arthur’s like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like they’re actual boyfriends instead of two people pretending to be anything more than just friends who fuck.

And it’s Merlin again who grabs Arthur’s footie shirt at the back and drags him closer and pulls away from the fucking brilliant kiss to lick up the side of Arthur’s neck all the way to the back of his ear, so fucking _sexy_ , is he really the boy that didn’t know how to kiss less than a week ago, so fucking daring that Arthur whimpers like a kitten and abandons inhibition to run his hands down Merlin’s arse, grab him and try and fit himself to him — Merlin shudders and hides his face in Arthur’s hair —

“About fucking time!” Leon yells, yards away. There’s a couple of wolf-whistles and Arthur just, he just whispers into Merlin’s ear,

“They don’t have any sodding clue, do they?” Tell me they do, they’ve known what we haven’t, that you love me and it’s obvious to everyone but me. Tell me you know I love you, you’ve always known, so I won’t have to say it out loud and have it go into the air between us from where I can never snatch it back ’cause I’m leaving you behind,

to go where you won’t come after me,

tomorrow.

“Nope,” Merlin whispers. “Let’s go to yours, I’m starving.”

* * *

 

He isn’t.

He crowds Arthur against the worktop when they’re in the kitchen, and it’s exhilarating and excruciating to think that they could’ve been doing this for longer if Arthur had known him better or confessed his feelings earlier, if any of the myriads of possibilities that stab Arthur in the chest with every breath Merlin draws from him had spilled into reality.

“Feel like telling me now?” Merlin asks, when it’s been fifteen minutes (Arthur kept track of _this_ ) of exhausting, glorious snogging.

No. But I will kiss you again because I will never get to kiss you again.

“Arthur, are you home already?” comes Morgana’s voice, and before Arthur can pull his shirt back on or Merlin can button his up or either of them can even consider that no number of perfect clothes will bleed the evidence from their mouths and faces, she’s walked into the kitchen and seen them.

“Oh,” is all she says. And then she looks torn between vanishing and pretending like she isn’t seeing anything out of the ordinary. She focuses on the boy with Arthur, and valiantly goes, “Merlin! I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“Erm — yeah,” Merlin replies, turning only slightly to meet her gaze while Arthur tries to do Merlin’s shirt up properly, seizing every chance to brush his fingertips against the soft skin of Merlin’s stomach, his sternum, his clavicles. His nail runs over one of Merlin’s hard-soft nipples; not his fault.

“How’ve you been?”

Arthur pats Merlin’s chest once — I’m done, turn around and talk to her while I pull my shirt on as if she didn’t just catch us necking.

“Well, thank you. And you?”

“Brilliant. It’s my last day back home; I’m sure Arthur must’ve told you already, but we’re going to go visit his dad in hospital tomorrow and then I’ll be dropping him off at his hall.”

And that’s that. At least he didn’t have to say it.

“Oh, yeah, he did tell me,” Merlin says, and Arthur tries to hide his reaction and watch for Merlin’s at the same time, “Shame he’s got to leave early, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, he’s been absolutely shattered since he found out in the morning.” Morgana, you fucking awful excuse for a sister, thank you so fucking much. “But he’s such a goody-two-shoes, he’ll just put up with everything without a whinge.”

“That’s not the Arthur I know,” Merlin says, laughing, and Arthur knows him enough, he hopes, to recognise that the laughter is fake, that Merlin’s hand trembling on his wrist isn’t fatigue.

“Do you want some lunch? I’m sure I can rustle up a sandwich and a cuppa each.” She looks like she’d rather be anywhere but at the worktop where her younger half-brother was only five minutes ago crushed up against his — well, she’d think Merlin was his boyfriend, right? Please think he’s my boyfriend.

“No, thank you, Morgana,” and this is Merlin again. “We were just, erm, going up to Arthur’s room to see if there’s anything left that needs packing.”

Morgana pauses. A slow smile spreads across her face and Arthur loves her. She breathes out as if she’s given up, and turns to go.

“Well, you couldn’t be any more transparent if you were invisible,” she says. “Don’t break the bed.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Merlin answers, already taking the other doorway, dragging Arthur up. Arthur lets him, silent.

His room is spacious, stripped bare. Its posters and photos have been crammed into boxes and suitcases (Arthur never planned on coming back to this house), and the few clothes that Arthur will leave behind are slung over a chair. Merlin has been in here countless times, almost as many times as Arthur has been in Merlin’s bedroom. Arthur watches him stop short at the sight of the cleared room.

“So,” Merlin says, once Arthur shuts the door purely out of habit and stands behind him, arm hovering millimetres away from his back. “You’re going away tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

“And that’s why you’ve been cut up all day.”

“Yeah.”

“You would’ve told me, right?” Merlin turns, and Arthur can’t make sense of the wild expression on Merlin’s face. He doesn’t try. (O, that way madness lies; let me shun that; no more of that.) “You wouldn’t have just up and vanished.”

“No.”

“Because fuck, I would’ve come after you. Punched you in your pretty boy face. Broken your stupid gorgeous nose.”

“Like you could lay a finger on me, milksop.”

It doesn’t work. Merlin carries on. “Or I wouldn’t’ve. I’d have let you end our friendship this way.”

“I don’t want to go.”

Merlin is struck dumb.

“I don’t want to leave —” you, can’t you abandon all your hopes and dreams and come with me? “You’re my closest friend, Merlin,” and there are a hundred thousand sleepless nights in store for me where I’ll reach for the mobile and dial your American number and shut the phone off, ’cause you’ll be busy swotting or shagging and I’ll have lost the privilege of bothering you every minute of every day.

“I hate this so much, I don’t want to live Dad’s life for him,” I want to — I don’t know what I want, not really. I just know that I don’t want _this_.

“I’m so scared I’m never going to be happy again.” I don’t remember the way we used to be before I kissed you. Did I keep you at arm’s length? Did I steal longing glances at you? Did we fool around and do best-mate things without it ever turning into us tearing off each other’s clothes? Who was I before this week? Who am I without you.

Merlin speaks.

“Hey, boyfriend. Look at me?”

Arthur’s eyes snap to Merlin’s.

“It’ll be okay,” Merlin says.

“You don’t believe that.”

“Of course I do. Everything always works out.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, and the conviction in his reply kills Arthur, ruins him to the point where he —

“I think I might be in love with you, boyfriend,” he whispers, stepping off the cliff. Quick, memorise him before he goes away forever. Cloud of black hair. Blue eyes. Sharp, pale cheekbones and red mouth from all the snogging downstairs. Thin and anything but brawny despite Arthur’s best efforts. Long legs and elegant hands that are coming up to frame Arthur’s face.

“You’re probably only thinking that ’cause of all the sex we’ve been having, Arthur,” Merlin says. Say _boyfriend_ again. Please. “We only started this ’cause I wanted to know what it was like, yeah?”

Arthur exhales. “You’re probably right, Merls. Sorry I said anything.”

Sea’s fairly close. Hurtling down. Please break my back before I drown.

“’s all right. Can I kiss you, boyfriend?”

“Sure.”

Then they’re kissing, wrapped in each other’s arms. Arthur doesn’t want to see how little it matters to Merlin in the end.

He closes his eyes.


	6. this clumsy boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. changed the summary, because the three lines that were originally there don't describe the story as well anymore, i think  
> 2\. please look forward to the last chapter  
> 3\. this is a shorter chapter than usual and i am sorry.  
> 3.1 as always i am genuinely terrified that this is absolute rubbish but i really, really hope you'll enjoy it anyway ;v;  
> 4\. my promise of desserts for feedback still stands

  
cover art for the story by [ueberdemnebelmeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ueberdemnebelmeer)

* * *

Now listen.

This is what happens.

He stays the night in your bed, even though he doesn’t love you. In your bare room with the curtains open, letting in the stifling air, he lies beside you, turned towards you. You can’t fall asleep; it burns when your eyes close. You don’t know if he’s asleep, too. He hasn’t touched you since he kissed you, but he invited himself to remain for dinner and awkward conversation and you want to die because you did the stupidest thing in your life, you told him you loved him when you knew he’s too good for the likes of you. He knew exactly what he wanted from your little arrangement while you fooled yourself.

You stupid fuck. How dare you have hoped? How dare you have loved?

* * *

 

(Can’t sleep.

What do I think

about. Merlin’s breath is warm against my ear. What’s he

taste like.

Would he let me

suck on his nipples like I’d do to a girl. I

like how he smells in the hollow between his collarbones. Would he let me

fuck him

, lick my own come out of him.

I need a glass of water. I can’t breathe

or live like this.)

Arthur slides the thin cotton sheet off — damp, it doesn’t put up a fight — and sits up. The ceiling fan rotates lazily, glinting with each turn above him. Merlin’s face is half-hidden in the dark, and he’s sprawled across the bed. Arthur turns away from him and places one unsure foot on the floor.

“Don’t.”

He doesn’t sound sleepy.

“Go back to sleep, Merlin, I’m just fetching a glass of water.”

“Don’t go. Please.”

There’s rustling sounds and then arms wrap around Arthur’s middle, and Merlin’s hair tingles Arthur’s back. Arthur surrenders without making the conscious decision to, and his unsure foot lifts back onto the bed and the cotton blanket crawls back over him. Merlin squirms closer, so he’s nearly mouthing Arthur’s jaw again, and he’s struggling to rock Arthur onto his side — Arthur tortures himself a moment more, then surrenders a second time.

Merlin delicately slides a calf over his.

Arthur does nothing.

They breathe. The ceiling fan whirs. A cricket makes itself known for a piercing moment; its call dies back down.

Arthur wonders how many hours he’s got left, if it’s worth it to be hurt by Merlin now when he has decades ahead to unfairly resent him. He rolls onto his front, half covering Merlin, face pressing into the boundary between Merlin’s hair and the pillow. Merlin holds him tighter, fists stretching his T-shirt. Why is he still here, when Arthur’s made it unbearable to speak.

Arthur rests a hand on Merlin’s hip. Merlin goes taut, and then he relaxes and nudges Arthur’s arm further up, under his own T-shirt. Arthur stumbles over the hard jut of Merlin’s ribcage.

When he gently, steadily starts thumbing Merlin’s nipple, less to arouse and more for lack of anything else to do, Merlin shivers and sighs.

“I’m not really… straight,” he whispers. Arthur doesn’t stop his stroking. He fancies he can hear Merlin’s pulse in his neck if he focuses hard enough. “I don’t know what I am. But I — I’ve never wanted girls the way you have, even though I’ve liked a couple. I used to have a tiny crush on Gwen a long time ago, but thank fuck it never went anywhere; and anyway, I’ve really only fancied one person my entire life, so it doesn’t make a whit of difference.

“I thought I was obvious, Arthur.”

Arthur freezes.

“All this time I thought you knew, that you secretly pitied me for it.”

Knew what. _Knew what_. Say it say it say it —

“And the reason I’d never kissed anyone, or held anyone’s hand or whatever, it was because there wasn’t anyone else that I _wanted_ to kiss, and then I thought it was too late when I asked you if it made me a, a pathetic loser that I’d be going to uni like that. You’d always said those things about my looks, and you’d always only ever been with girls so I’d never in my wildest dreams thought you’d kiss me or let me do those things with you, but you did and I’m so sorry for manipulating you into —”

“ _Shut up_.”

(You’re making claws of your hands and you’re shaking and you’re not angry, not at all, you’re only crazed with grief for this exquisite, wrecked little thing between you and him that died

before

it even

got to

live.)

“Arthur?” He sounds afraid.

Arthur’s struggling to breathe. He squeezes his eyelids shut and tries to tamp the juddering of his body. Merlin sounds like he’s having a hard time breathing, too.

“Go to sleep,” Arthur says, choking on the words. “Just. Go to sleep.”

“I’m sor —” Merlin starts, upset and confused. Arthur kisses him to stop him from finishing the meaningless apology. It’s meaningless.

(Is this the last kiss you’ll ever have with him?)

They tumble into their separate dreams like that, brushing their mouths together for no fucking reason, anchoring their hands on each other’s body. Arthur will smell like Merlin the next morning.

* * *

 

“Take care, Merls,” Arthur says. The AC’s on in the car, and Morgana is only seconds away from outright leaning on the horn.

Merlin nods. He’s smiling. He looks so bright under the sky, again in danger of being sunburnt, gazing at Arthur with his hands in his pockets.

“You’ll email me when I’m over there?” he asks. “Don’t lose touch with me, even if you want to.”

“Of course. Hey, I’ll even write you letters. Send me your American number when you get it, too. Promise me.”

“Promise. Ring me once you’ve visited your dad.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to go.” I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you years ago, and that I told you right when you wouldn’t be ready to believe me. “Tell your mum I love her.”

There’s a brief blare of a car horn behind Arthur. Merlin snorts as he catches Morgana probably sticking two fingers up at the back of Arthur’s head through the rear windscreen. Arthur watches the pink of his mouth curling up, and he _wants_.

“Sorry we couldn’t try any of your fantasies. Maybe when you get a boyfriend at Princeton, Merls —” I hope you never stop loving me. I hope you’ll always regret holding back like I will. I’m a selfish bastard.

I hope you’ll always be happy.

“Nah, you’re prolly it for me,” Merlin says, easy and confident in his belated love. “Fifteen-year best friend, six-day boyfriend.”

“Showed you the ropes and let you go.” When did Arthur become a soap opera character, quoting his past?

“But yeah, maybe if I do. Thanks, Arthur.”

They hug, tightly. The last thing Arthur buried in his heart drives up through the barrenness. “Merlin,” he whispers. “I’m so fucking sorry about all the mean things I’ve said about you. I never meant a word, I was just joking, I really was. You’re the most beautiful person I’ll ever know, and I love it when you smile, and you’re the only one who’s ever felt safe, and I love your ears the most. You’re so stunning. All those swots are going to fall over themselves trying to chat you up, you stupid genius.”

“You really think so?” Merlin’s voice is muffled in Arthur’s hair.

“Yeah. Yeah, Merls, you’re so bloody gorgeous it hurts. Please forgive me for ever making you think you were anything but.”

“Nothing to forgive.”

Arthur unlocks from the warmest hug he’ll ever have, and cradles Merlin’s face in his hands. Merlin returns the favour. There’s a second blare of the horn.

“Arthur, I shouldn’t do this, this is the worst decision of my life but did you — do you, d’you really love me?” Merlin asks. The urgency in his tone and the desperation in his gaze startle Arthur.

(What do you say? What could you possibly say?)

Arthur leans in a bit. Yes, I love you so fucking much. No, I think you were right, it was the sex making a mess of my head. Whatever I say is going to kill us both. Am I self-sacrificing enough to spare you?

He kisses Merlin’s forehead, then the bridge of his nose, then his cheek and then his lovely rose mouth; once, twice, as many times as Merlin is willing to kiss back, he feels so good, Arthur should have nicked one of Merlin’s hoodies ages ago, five, six. He pulls away.

“Bye, Merls,” he murmurs, shaky. (Drown in his eyes one more time and turn your back on him because you have to. Go to the car, open the passenger-side door, ignore Morgana’s exasperated jibe, don’t look back, don’t fucking look back you fucking moron —)

There is utter devastation on Merlin’s face, and it’s probably not the kissing that did it.

I’m sorry, Merlin. It really was the worst decision of your life and you shouldn’t have asked.

* * *

 

That is what happened.

Now stop listening and live your miserable life.


	7. never your laughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, the end. i hope you will enjoy this chapter, and i hope you have enjoyed this story. your comments have meant the world to me. thank you.

  
cover art for the story by [ueberdemnebelmeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ueberdemnebelmeer)

* * *

Summer ends with a thunderstorm.

* * *

 

Dear Merlin,

I miss you loads. You won’t get this letter, since I’m never posting it.

Arthur

* * *

 

Dear Merlin,

I’m not really this pathetic, you know that. I was king of our school. Everyone adored me. I was the great Arthur Pendragon, Head Boy, football captain, magazine-cover face, supermodel bod, arrogant and narcissistic and posh. I don’t know where it’s all gone. The thought of losing you stripped it all away from me.

I’ll be okay as long as we can still be friends. I’m sorry I’m not sending you this letter. I don’t know why I’m doing this.

Arthur

* * *

 

_You have one new voice message._

H’lo, this is Merlin. Arthur, save my new number! Give us a call when you get this, yeah?

_Delete message?_

* * *

 

_You have three new voice messages._

Arthur, c’mon. Don’t be a dick. You promised you’d keep in touch. You _promised_! — _message deleted._

Haven’t even dialled Mum’s number yet, but I’ve been ringing you up every evening. Don’t go any further away than you already have. I miss you, all right? I miss you loads. — _message deleted._

Okay. I won’t hound you. I just really, really hope you’re doing all right. I love — I love…

_Message saved. You have one voice message._

* * *

 

Arthur had broken his leg, once, when he’d been about thirteen. Badly. Football never again, maybe. Uther had rushed him to A&E, with Morgana away someplace where she wouldn’t have to argue with a father (figure) on principle. Arthur had been so alone, stuck in hospital, unable to walk for weeks.

And then Merlin and Hunith had walked into his room and Merlin was sniffling; _I didn’t even know, I begged Mum to ring your dad and ask_ , and the terror of never being able to do the one thing that drew him away from his pre-prepared life melted away with a simple _good lord, Merls, I’m not DYING, you drama queen_ and a pointed eye-roll that’d made Merlin snort and Hunith smack them both lightly round the head.

Arthur doesn’t know why he’s remembering this now, of all times. Well, he does. His legs ache with longing; he hasn’t played footie in weeks. He might as well be in hospital again.

Uther is all right. Strolled right out of his ward the next day. Sometimes it feels like he’s never going to die. He’ll always be at Arthur’s back, and Arthur will chip pieces of himself off the surface of his skin until he’s gleaming bones to stay a good son. It wouldn’t make a difference. In life, it’s making a father proud. In death, it’s carrying on a legend’s legacy.

* * *

 

“Merlin, great to hear your voice, thanks — thanks for this, I’m sorry I didn’t —”

“You’re such a prat, you know. Why d’you make me do all the hard work?”

“I mean it. I’d missed you.”

“Well, bloody pick up my calls, then!”

“I dunno why I’ve been like this. It’s not as if there’s this huge uncrossable gulf between us now that you’ve gone away to and I’m stuck in the _hallowed_ buildings of a university I couldn’t give less of a shit about. No matter what happens, you’re my best friend, right? You’re mine.”

“Yeah, Arthur, ’m all yours. And you’re all mine.”

“Yeah.”

“No more cold shouldering, all right?”

“Promise. I mean it this time, I really do.”

“Okay. I’ll try to come back if I get any break between semesters.”

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

“How’s studies?”

* * *

 

It’s like a trophy on the shelf, now. The best and worst week of Arthur’s life. Collecting dust, admired from afar, never taken down and re-examined. There’s times when Arthur even forgets he was inside Merlin, when he forgets what Merlin’s cock looked and tasted like (lies, all lies, it’s all he thinks about when he’s balls deep in a girl who wants him for his face and name). Was he supposed to be repulsed by the whole thing? Cock and balls, flat chest, no cunt — doesn’t matter. When he’s soused beyond all sanity, lost in dejection over his aimless life, he knows he’d have wanted to fuck Merlin, make love to him, no matter what.

Merlin doesn’t ever mention being in love with Arthur again. Arthur doesn’t try to make him do it.

Maybe they’re better off never talking about it again.

Merlin stops picking up the phone. Replying to emails. Arthur’s letters get lost in the ocean. Arthur almost wishes it’s because Merlin’s dead. He won’t phone Hunith and confirm.

Two years pass. Three. Arthur graduates first-class and starts his Master’s instantly. Anything to keep the CEO job waiting for him at bay, _vive le népotisme._

He listens over and over to the last song Merlin sent him.

* * *

 

[_I’m calling you again on your telephone_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cEBvckpmzW8)

[ _And all I ever get is another stupid busy tone_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cEBvckpmzW8)

* * *

 

Arthur doesn’t chase Merlin to Princeton or wherever in the world he might be now. He never looks him up on Facebook or Instagram or LinkedIn or any other website that springs to mind. He doesn’t keep in touch with Leon, Gwaine, Gwen, the rest; they’d all ask about Merlin and Arthur isn’t ever going to pretend he doesn’t — didn’t — doesn’t, stop lying to yourself — love his best friend.

He has a fiancée now. Her name is Mithian. She’s all right with being called Mithian Nemeth-Pendragon and he likes her well enough. She’s _glamorous_. She’s witty, pretty, warm. She hasn’t an iota of romantic love for him, and that he likes more than anything else.

He sleeps with her because he’s supposed to; she lets him because she’s supposed to.

“Who’s Merlin?” she asks one night, when Arthur is lying on his side with his back to her, covered in a shroud of deep guilt. “You keep whispering his name during sex.”

She doesn’t mind that he does that. Arthur hopes she, too, sees someone else in his face.

“He’s my best friend.” No matter what. “Someone I used to love.” No matter what?

“You’ve never introduced me to him,” Mithian says, running a gentle hand over his shoulder, arm, stopping at his elbow. “Won’t you? Won’t he be your best man? He’s your best friend.”

Arthur’s trying not to think about the wedding. Morgana, Uther’s estranged daughter and keen observer of Arthur’s soul, spends every second of her time around him trying to convince him that he _doesn’t. Have. To. Do. This_ , but he does, doesn’t he? He’s got nothing apart from this. He can’t go back and do a second bachelor’s _now_ , Uther would flay him, and he’s all set, he’s going to have a secure future where he’ll be as famous as or more famous than his father who won’t fucking die. What’s a wife and a future family he doesn’t want any part of, when he’s already got a _life_ he doesn’t want any part of?

“Phone him, Arthur,” Mithian encourages. She interlaces their fingers and spoons him, resting her bent knee on his waist and her foot on his thigh. Her soft breasts press into Arthur’s back. Arthur blindly, numbly throws the hand holding hers behind him, searching for her cunt; Mithian leads him to it and for the next half-hour he tries not to think about Merlin, dear Merlin who’d stretched and slicked himself for him. He fails. He was bound to. He hears Merlin’s gasps and sighs in Mithian’s when he turns around and puts his fingers to proper use, and when he spends in his fist, it’s to the memory of Merlin clenched gorgeously tight around him.

“I want Merlin to be there at our wedding,” Mithian says, cupping Arthur’s soft cock, teasing his overstimulated balls (Arthur closes his eyes; in his mind, Merlin is the one curiously exploring him). “You can’t live without him and it might be the only thing that’ll bring him to you.”

“We haven’t talked in over five years, Mith.”

“Try one last time. For me.”

Arthur can’t believe her cruelty. At least he’ll be able to blame her when he’s freshly shattered.

* * *

 

Hunith doesn’t seem angry to see him. “Six years, Arthur. You forgot me.” She hugs him and Arthur is suddenly eighteen and heartbroken again.

“Never. Could never forget you, you’re as good as my mum.”

Hunith doesn’t mind that Arthur clings to her longer than necessary. Arthur sits with her at the dining table, holding her hand.

“How are you doing, love?”

“I’m… fine. I’ve got a job now, at Dad’s company. Settled in nicely, earning bucketloads of money.”

Hunith purses her lips; she knows Arthur a bit too well. She can see that he couldn’t care less about the money, that he hates the job, that he’s not fine — and Arthur knows she can read him. “Lovely ring. When’s the wedding?” she says, examining the engraved platinum band on his fourth finger.

“In two months,” Arthur answers. “I came here to give you the invitation.” He withdraws an elegant envelope from his suit pocket and offers it to her.

Where’s Merlin, he doesn’t ask. He was supposed to be my best man. No, fuck, he was supposed to be in Mithian’s place.

“I’d always assumed it would be my son you would marry some day,” Hunith says quietly, as if she read Arthur’s mind just now. She turns the envelope over in her hand, looking at the embossed names of Arthur and his soon-to-be wife.

Arthur blinks; every thought in his head, every coherent response dissipates at her words. He tries to explain himself, to ask her to explain herself, but he can’t. Hunith notices his speechlessness.

“I wasn’t blind, you know. None of us were.

“Not even your father.”

Arthur exhales shakily. Please, no. Please.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why Merlin broke off all contact with you? Didn’t you ever wonder how Merlin got the funds to go to Princeton? Did you know?”

“I didn’t.” Arthur’s voice is suddenly hoarse. “I thought he… I thought…”

“I wanted him to have the best education so I couldn’t spit in Uther’s face. I can’t be sorry about that, love. He phones every day. Asks if you rang. Asks about you. He always begs me to tell you, if you ever come searching for this part of your past, that you’re his world and that it kills him to have to stay away. He’ll always wait, he said.”

“Where is he?” The question bursts from Arthur’s throat. “You must tell me where he lives.” In a dramatic, violent gesture, he snatches the wedding invitation from Hunith and rips it up in front of her. She gets the symbolism. She has to. “Where’s Merlin?”

Hunith has tears in her eyes. “I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you,” she whispers.

Arthur rises to his feet. Something wild is clawing its way through the walls of his heart. He can’t think. He can’t be calm about this — “ _Six years I’ve thought he abandoned me_ ,” he says, each syllable a harsh, guttural sound. “Six years I’ve thought he’d realised he was too good for me, like a _fool_ I ached for him — Hunith, how could you, I’m yours, too. How could you? How could you —”

Hunith holds him as he starts crying.

* * *

 

_You have three new voice messages._

Arthur, I can’t go through with this marriage. I won’t. I’m sorry. I have someone else I love. Just like you. — _message deleted._

Where the fuck are you? Fucking hell, where are you? Mithian said she’s breaking things off, which is fucking brilliant. Uther’s still a bit shellshocked, looks like. He had the audacity to email me. Where are you? Tell me it’s what I think it is. — _message deleted._

Mum gave me your number. Arthur, I — call me back. Please.

_Message saved. You have one voice message._

* * *

 

Oxford, of all places. Oxford.

Faculty of English Language and Literature.

Why is his life a fucking drama?

* * *

 

Merlin looks divine. Six years on, he’s only more radiant. Hair still, _still_ the same fucking cloud, and he’s filled out a bit, and he’s staring at Arthur with blue eyes that Arthur had forgotten the warmth of over the four years he convinced himself that Merlin hated him.

“Come in,” Merlin says, stepping aside to let Arthur into his flat. Arthur almost wishes it were summer right now.

How does Merlin’s new bedroom look? Will they ever lounge around on it again? Will Merlin whisper into the air something mean Arthur meant as a joke, will Arthur kiss the hurt out of him? He has no idea what he’s supposed to say. My father’s a fucking monster. I’ve lacked a spine all my life but now I’ve grown one. Your mum cares for you, so much. Do you love me still? I told myself I wasn’t worth you. I know I’m right. Can I love you anyway?

Arthur gazes and gazes and gazes at Merlin, who moves around the living room in a random path, straightening this, nudging that into place.

“So, how’ve you been?” Casual’s never sounded very good on him.

“I’m okay,” Merlin answers. He’s wearing — oh, _God_ , Arthur could _weep_ — a translucent nine-year-old white shirt over navy trousers. Threadbare with use.

Merlin notices Arthur’s attention. He flushes. “Yeah, well. I wear this around the flat, didn’t want to stow it away or throw it away. Works well as a pyjama top.”

He doesn’t look surprised at all when Arthur kisses him. Instead, he smiles like he hasn’t smiled in years, and lovingly wraps his arms around Arthur’s neck, and presses all of himself to Arthur.

Arthur takes his first breath since a sultry-hot week buried deep in his past.

* * *

 

“Tell me, darling, do you think we have a future?” Arthur whispers into Merlin’s skin at dawn the next day, both of them utterly filthy with sweat and spunk.

Merlin stirs.

“That a song quote? Fucking go to sleep, it isn’t even seven yet,” he murmurs, running a somnolent finger up Arthur’s stomach, patting his waist and gently scratching his back. Arthur kisses Merlin’s ear. That lovely ear.

“You waited for me all this time,” Arthur says, choking up.

“Quelle surprise,” Merlin answers. But he’s quivering, teary when he climbs on top of Arthur and coaxes him to hardness and they fuck for the fifth time that night. Arthur relearns the breathy moans Merlin lets out when he loses control, the gasp that punches out of him when he leans forward helplessly and buries his face in Arthur’s neck, making Arthur do all the work, the desperate kiss he burns Arthur with when Arthur flips them around and fucks deep into him. Merlin never slept with anyone else — six years he waited, and he would’ve waited even longer, oh, fuck, how did Arthur never realise that Merlin loves him just as much as he loves Merlin? How’d he let himself think —

“I love you, too,” Merlin says, much later, when Arthur’s drowsy himself, when Merlin’s breathing is dear, welcome background music to him again. “Six-day boyfriend. Wanna be my forever boyfriend?”

Arthur snorts. Merlin knows the answer to his own question. He sprawls over Arthur like his very own blanket, and Arthur has no complaints; none at all.


	8. infinite tenderness (alternate ending)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alternate ending to the story, meant to be read after chapter 6 if you want the sad version, though the story's true ending is chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _surprise!_ this is a really bad surprise, though.
> 
> so i wrote this version of the ending much before the actual end of the story, and debated very much with myself over whether to post it now that the story has a happy conclusion.
> 
> i didn't want these words to die on my computer i suppose so here they are.
> 
> fair warning, this does not end happy. so you might not want to read ahead. it's up to you.
> 
> the true ending of the story is, of course, chapter 7. consider this as the events in an alternate dimension, i suppose.

  
cover art for the story by [ueberdemnebelmeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ueberdemnebelmeer)

* * *

This is the one where they part. Sort of, anyway.

This is the one where Arthur sticks to his promise; where he bleeds by his father’s side as his father bleeds to death after the Edinburgh collapse.

“In sickness and in health…”

This is the one where Arthur struggles to obtain his PPE degree in the absence of a father to drain him. Where Morgana drops her life, grits her teeth, and keeps the company afloat while Arthur buries his nose in textbooks and case studies and essays and projects and hurts his hands constantly by making rigid, brittle fists of them. Where Merlin begs him to get back up, you’re not going to keep doing this. Start moving. I’m so fucking glad he’s gone.

“For as long as…”

 _Do you want to get married_ , Arthur had asked Merlin in one of those phone-calls they’d not managed to coordinate properly, so they were both exhausted and drowsy and far more open than they’d ever been. _I could — I could apply for a civil partnership and maybe later we could convert it into a marriage licence. If you want._

Oh, Arthur, what good would that do? I’m stuck here for four years. I’m prolly going to live here all my life.

I can move to America once I graduate.

Won’t it be better for your company _it’s not my company it’s my dead father drowning me_ if you stayed where you are?

Then can’t you come back to me?

I… I don’t know, Arthur. I’m not unhappy here. I’ve been learning so many brilliant things. The stories I could tell you — I’ve already got a job offer, too, they want me to teach and I’m not even twenty-two —

I love you.

I love you, too.

Isn’t this enough?

You tell me.

Why did you make me go through that bloody _awful_ week if you didn’t even really want me at the end of it —

I did, I do, didn’t I tell you how desperate I was? To hold onto one last piece of you? Didn’t I tell you that I love you? That I hated it when you were cleaning me up because I wanted your come to be absorbed into my body, that I wished I had a cunt and a womb so I could have the chance to have your baby —

Merls, I’m so scared.

I’m scared, too, Arthur.

You’re too much and I’m not enough.

Okay, let’s get married, then. So we’ll even each other out.

No… no. No, you go find someone else. I was being selfish.

Arthur? Don’t hang up the —

“…you both shall live.”

* * *

 

Merlin finds someone else. Arthur was being selfish.

* * *

 

“Best man?” Merlin says, smiling wretchedly. He’s beautiful, even when it’s electrons on a screen making him up instead of his own.

Arthur swallows, and nods. “She beautiful?”

“Yeah. ’s Freya, mate.”

“Oh. Brill.”

No, you didn’t really fancy me, Merlin. D’you know what puppy love means? In the end you fell for the superstar version of me that I showed you. It’s my fault. I should’ve shown you the coward. I should’ve shown you the emptiness inside the sex training dummy. It’s so much easier not to love.

“The wedding’s happening in London. I’ll see you soon, Arthur! And we can celebrate your birthday while we’re at it.”

“I love you,” Arthur doesn’t say.

“I — I love you, too, Arthur. I — please don’t be good to me about this, please don’t…” Merlin doesn’t answer.

Arthur stupidly kisses the screen, lips tingling from the static electricity maybe, and closes his eyes so he won’t know if Merlin kissed him back. The screen is black, ten minutes later, when the backs of his eyelids have stopped burning.

* * *

 

Merlin is so, so stunning. So radiant.

So exhausted after the ceremony that it’s all Arthur can do to hold him up, laughing into his Dumbo ear and prodding him upright. He might be a little bit drunk. Both of them. People are still dancing on the floor, cheerful and noisy, just on the edge of rowdy. Freya and Gwen and Gwaine and Leon are off giving the ‘bestest best mates ever’ some time to themselves.

“When are you getting married?” Merlin yells. He swings into Arthur’s embrace and holds on, dragging them both into the midst of the crowd. Arthur laughs helplessly and gives in to Merlin’s obvious desire to dance with him.

“Never,” he shouts over the music and cheers. People notice the groom’s joined them with his best man, and this is a picture-worthy moment, let’s record the best friends swaying together as if it’s their marriage.

Merlin leans in close as if the song is a slow waltz (it’s not) and with his mouth stuck hotly against Arthur’s jaw, who the fuck cares if at least thirty people are watching, whispers, “This was the last first left.”

“What?”

“Dance with you. My fantasy. D’you remember asking me once, ages ago? Was my fantasy to dance at my wedding with you. But I’d always thought it’d be our wedding. And then we’d go up to our honeymoon suite and fuck each other’s brains out.”

“Jesus, Merlin —”

“I will always love you. I promise you, Arthur. I love her, and I will have children with her, but it’s _you_ I’ll never divorce, okay?”

“You’re _so_ drunk, Merls.” Please shut the fuck up.

“ _So_ drunk. Why didn’t you fight for me? I wanted you to fight for me.”

Arthur crushes Merlin to him. People cheer. Look at them. Brothers having an emotional moment.

We’re not brothers, Arthur wants to yell. We’re — we’re —

“Look,” Merlin exclaims, still rocking them both side to side. He brings out his phone. Arthur presses his lips to Merlin’s temple, uncaring of what people think now, as he sees Merlin’s phone background: two boys kissing filthily on a sofa, the sounds of a football match, an excited commentator ringing in Arthur’s ears. “Freya’s not seen this. I changed it this morning! I wanted to show you.”

“I love you, darling,” Arthur says. “Can I kiss you?”

“Oh, yeah, great gimmick they’ll think it is.”

Gimmick it is. Catcalls and wolf-whistles and the bride’s screaming laughter and Gwaine’s _I fucking knew it_ and Leon’s unhappy frown, the _about fucking time_ hanging in the air pierced by his gaze, and Gwen’s boundless pity. Arthur doesn’t dare look at Hunith.

“She’s pretty,” Merlin sighs, once his mouth is wet and kissed-red. “She’s really very pretty. She likes me, wanted to marry me. I like her too much. Sorry. Sorry. I’m sorry. You’re my everything but she was so alone, just like me when you weren’t inside me, when you weren’t holding my face to yours and breathing me in.”

I’m dying, too. What will you do? Can’t believe I thought I’d lose you to Gwaine some day. Fucking Gwaine. I’d rather it were him. I’d rather it were me. Did you see the blurry love bite in the photo? You gave that to me in the dead of the night. D’you remember?

Why do you still have the photo? How could you show it to me?

* * *

 

So, am I waiting for her to kick the bucket, then?

Don’t be so callous. She’s your friend, too.

Does she know why you don’t want to shag her?

She knows. She doesn’t care, I think.

Morgana thinks I should stop waiting for you. Get on with my life.

She’s prolly right, you should.

Yeah?

* * *

 

“Can you look a little less like a wounded puppy, for goodness’ sake,” Freya says. Merlin sneaks a peek at Arthur, who’s grinning wryly and helping her unload the suitcases in front of the airport terminal.

“Arthur says he isn’t going to come visit me,” Merlin whines.

“And are you a pauper that you can’t visit _him_ instead, Dr Wyllt?”

“It’s a symbolic thing, Frey,” Merlin begins, but Arthur cuts him off — “Pauper? He’s rubbing off on you, isn’t he?”

Freya laughs. She probably gets all of Merlin’s nerdy references and swot jokes. She’s better for him. She can give him the world.

“Don’t listen to him,” Merlin says.

“Yeah, I’m just his six-day boyfriend,” Arthur says. (Merlin gave him a book as a parting gift, because he knows Arthur a bit better now, probably, knows that Arthur will never make the trip to America for him. Arthur will bet his entire undeserved Pendragon fortune on the author being C S Lewis.)

“Yeah, he was the training wheels before all my Princeton sexcapades,” Merlin says, rolling his eyes and walking over to the long trolley line beside the entrance. Arthur doesn’t know if Merlin genuinely fucked his way through his year. He watches Merlin’s back, wondering.

“I’m sorry,” Freya says quietly.

“Nah,” Arthur replies. “He’s still my best friend, no matter what.”

“You’re the only one he’ll ever really love. Can you be happy with that?”

Arthur frowns. “Does it matter?”

Merlin returns, wheeling a trolley in front of him. Before Arthur can wish for two more minutes of this, it’s over and they’re saying their goodbyes again.

“Bye, Arthur,” Freya says, hugging him briefly and dragging the trolley behind her, to the check-in counter. Contrived, of course. Of course.

“How many times are we going to do this?” Merlin asks, grinning.

“This is the last time, I reckon,” Arthur says. Merlin’s grin fades.

“You were serious? You really won’t —”

“It’s just that I’ll be too busy, Merlin. Don’t want to get your hopes up. ’course I’ll give you a call if I’m ever there.”

“Yeah. Yeah, and I can be the one to come meet you, yeah.”

“I’d like that.”

“Okay, bye.”

No promises to ring, or email, or write. I trust you, Arthur. You’ll contact me if you want to. I’ll wait. I’ll wait a lifetime for you. Infinite lifetimes if I have to.

“Bye, Merls. Don’t get drunk too often, you’re useless.” Arthur hugs Merlin, inhales the scent of his sweat. Thinks about a lazy day by the pond, where he’d smelt the same. Where he’d worn an obvious sign of Arthur’s possession and then returned it twofold to him.

“Bye, Arthur. Thank you.”

“Safe flight.”

They don’t kiss each other. They might as well be, for the way they stare into each other’s eyes.

Merlin turns back to face him at least ten times on his way to Freya. Arthur stands where he is, a blast of air-conditioned coolness wiping away his summer perspiration as his hand wavers in the air, an unsteady goodbye.

His mobile rings. It’s Morgana; probably to invite him to pub and get him utterly soused. He steps away and accepts the call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you made it to this end note, great job, and i am so sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback will be appreciated with any dessert of your choice <3


End file.
